


The Zealous Servant

by Xazz



Category: The Fey Alliance
Genre: Civil War, Dark Fantasy, F/M, Gen, Homosexuality, M/M, Magic, Politics, War, sword and sorcery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 47
Words: 243,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xazz/pseuds/Xazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fey Alliance is a country constantly at the cusp of war. Driven by the bloody war machine of the royal Le’Acard family the Alliance demands the sacrifice of all but one to ascend the throne of the Asuras. Prince Von is the middle child to the Asuras, and is an easy stepping stone for his older siblings in their grasp for the crown, an unremarkable blemish to their schemes. Or so they believe.</p><p>After a two year absence Von’s d’aelar Spayar has returned from the east to help him stave off the growing storm everyone can feel coming. For Spayar its bad news after more bad news as he’s forced to play catch up after his two years away from the capital. He has to act quickly to not just protect himself and family, but also the man he loves, prince Von, from the Conflict that is to come. While Von’s siblings see him as trivial to their grand plans none of them discount Spayar’s dark cunning to not only survive but make sure the Le’Acard who holds his leash becomes Asuras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maps

 

 

The map of Assarus


	2. Where the Heart Is

The Winter Palace was one of the most spectacular buildings in the entire Alliance, and put awe into any citizen who laid eyes upon it. 

It probably wasn’t the best thing that all Spayar could think of when he saw it was that it hadn’t changed in the slightest since the last time he saw it. The bountiful gardens that were lovingly tended by an army of gardeners and faunamancers with their bright, late summer, flower beds in decorative displays around the road should have made Spayar captivated. The graceful building, low and wide and almost box-like if it weren’t for the way space had been carved from the shimmering pink and yellow stone to make the walls seem paper thin and light as air, should have drawn his eyes, begged him to stare in wonder. The glimpse of the dome you could make out from the road, over the low sloped roof, at the top of the twisted tower that sat in the center of the courtyard was meant to make him humble knowing he was so close to the royal family.

Instead Spayar thought his horse had the right idea as he rode up to the palace and she took a shit right on the road.

More than a decade of his life consumed by this place. It and the people who lived in it or held court here had tried so hard to chew him up and spit him back out. They hadn’t anticipated him sticking his sword up to the roof of their mouth and wait for them to bite down. He’d never even asked for it. Rarely did people like him ask for much other than to _avoid_ exactly the people who lived in the Winter Palace.

Spayar passed through the Palace gate, barely seeing the gaudy gilt bars or the shield of the Le’Acard like a lock on the front, and pointed his horse towards the stables. The big building made of pale wood was infinitely more inviting than the Palace and as he got closer he could smell the horses and the animals in the stable that also served as the Palace kennel. His horse swished her tail and snorted. They’d been on the road nearly two weeks, she wasn’t used to the smell of other horses anymore, let alone animals kept in the kennels like hunting dogs, manticores, and eurgei.

Spayar stopped his horse just inside the stable before dismounting. “Hello?” he called. He didn’t dare just put his mare into a stable. There was an order to everything and the holsters had a system that Spayar didn’t know that involved letters and numbers and colors. That left him to just wait, knowing someone would hear him, the stables were big, but not so big that there wasn’t someone within loud talking distance.

He didn’t have to wait long. Someone approached as he was taking a bag out of his mare’s saddlebags. He didn’t plan to stay for long if he could help it. “Hello, need help?” Spayar looked in the direction of the voice.

“Yes,” Spayar told the holster who’d showed up. He handed his mare’s reins to the woman who’d come. “I won’t be long for the Palace,” he said as he rummaged around in his saddle bags for a smaller bag that fit awkwardly around a rectangular box. “So don’t take her gear off.”

“Of course, sir,” she said.

Spayar put his small pack over his shoulder and left the stable. As he walked the stone paved path from the stables to the Palace he dug into his jacket’s breast pocket and pulled out his medallion. It was about the size of his palm and was one of a kind, made of solid lead with a quicksilver inlay. It bore the mark of his rank, a unicorn rampart in front of several feathers. A six pointed star was on either side of the unicorn and a third was above the unicorn’s head.

 Spayar had made it himself, one of the few things he’d made. Sealed with his own mettallurgy the quicksilver glowed when someone tried to put a spell on him. So it was practical as well, and gave Spayar a reason to actually wear the damn thing around since he hated it. Hated being reminded he was this. He attached the medallion to the front of his breast and no one gave him any trouble when he walked into the Palace even when he looked, because he literally had, like he came right off the streets.

The Palace was hollow on the inside. The building surrounded a huge courtyard, two hallways leading from the main entrance down either side to rooms lined with windows faced inwards to the courtyard. It was here that all the offices, kitchens, and guest quarters were located. The throne room was on the other side of the courtyard, and other than the main foyer was the only other room without doors.

In the center of the courtyard was the tower that was divided into stories and each member of the Le’Acard got a floor all to themselves. Once it had been the higher in the tower you were the more important you were, but over the centuries, as attacks became less frequent, as did the conquering, it became a worn out tradition and silly that the Asuras should have to climb all the way to the top of the tower every night just to sleep. So now the Asuras lived on the first floor and every child they had had the floor above them in order of their birth. The tower itself was at least a hundred feet across and octagon in shape, so that there were no curved walls to make it difficult to decorate and the central staircase wound up through the middle of the tower in a tight spiral, unlike along the wall like a more conventional one.

Spayar was headed for the sixth floor, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. The normal guards that stood watch at the door let him right past and he sucked it up and started to climb. The first floor belonged to the Asuras and the king, then the second to their first son Teldin, then the third to their first daughter Tallalsala, then to Dellin, then Obi, and then finally, winded after such a climb, Spayar was at the sixth floor. He’d climbed the spires of Galinsum no problem, but they also had stair assistance there. He wanted to sit down a moment, but didn’t. Instead he just caught his breath and hoped the prince was home and that he wouldn’t have to go all over the city to find him since if he wasn’t here that meant he was skirting his lessons and was off doing who knew what.

He knocked loudly and waited. No answer. Spayar knocked again, harder this time. “Go away Teldin,” he heard a voice yell through the door.

“It isn’t Teldin, open up,” Spayar called back.

He only had to wait a few more seconds before the door was ripped open. Spayar felt himself smile at the look of disbelief on Vondugard’s face, his bright blue eyes wide, and his blonde hair slightly misshapen from his lazing about. “You’re back,” said the prince, and then he smiled so wide his face nearly split in two. “About time!” he cried and beckoned Spayar inside.

Spayar entered his apartment, which was several rooms with various purposes like studying or storage or sleeping or laying about. Spayar just bowed deeply to Von and he wondered if he should kneel, “Your royal highness,” he said in his most reserved and respectful tone.

Von just groaned loudly, “Stand up, you know I hate it when you do that,” and Von grabbed him by the shoulders and make him stand up straight.

“You do? I must have forgotten,” Spayar said lightly.

Von gave him a look, “No you didn’t,” he said, “I thought I ordered you not to call me that.”

“You did? Must have slipped my mind,” Spayar continued to tease him. Von just gave him a sour look.

“Of course it did. Now you’ve been here less than a minute and already made me regret missing you,” Von huffed.

“Apologies,” Spayar said, now just doing it to annoy him. Von gave him a very unimpressed look. “Okay, I’ll stop,” he said.

“Good,” and then Von hugged him, getting dust and road dirt all over his fine clothes. “I missed you,” he said and Spayar hugged Von back tightly.

“I missed you as well,” Spayar said. As much as he hated this place, and hated the people here, who he didn’t hate was Vondugard. His prince, and the entire reason he was a part of this huge mess. And Spayar wouldn’t want it any other way. Von smelled like lemons up close, and his clothes were the softest Spayar had felt in a long time. “I have a message for you,” he said, releasing the prince.

“You do? From who?”

“A friend of mine,” Spayar said, taking his pack off.

“You have friends?” Von teased him.

“Well if I didn’t you’d be quite out of luck,” Spayar said and took an envelope out of his pack. It was sealed by a Master Alchemist from the Council. He handed it to Von who took it and popped the seal. 

As Von read Spayar reached into the bag and pulled out a small, portable, firebox. Fireboxes had been invented by the alchemists a decade or so ago, and if opened without the correct combination they did anything from explode, to light on fire, to release a flammable gas that coated everything inside it so they were set fire to when exposed to open air. Small ones like the one Spayar had were expensive to make and get as working small was difficult. The box fit into both of Spayar’s hands so he could turn the wheels that input the combination.

The lock clicked as Von said, “So what is this thing? The letter said they had something important to show me.”

Spayar opened the box. Inside were three ceramic balls with a wick leading off of them laying snugly on stuffing. He picked one up and showed it to Von, “They call them grenados _,_ the first of its kind," he said, "they've been working on this for years, this is one of the first designs.”

Von’s brow furrowed, “Well, what does it do?” he asked and took the grenado from Spayar.

“Its an explosive. You light the wick and throw it. They explode in a shower of flame and shrapnel.”

"Really now?" Von tested it in his hand as though weighing it. "What is it made of?"

"The outer shell is a thin ceramic and it's packed with a black powder they originally imported from Ceslarin-

"Ceslarin? They brought it over the mountains?"

"Yes," Spayar nodded, "it took them years to synthesize how to recreate it. The High Alchemist says he's about to unveil a new product called flying-fire, which you throw into the air and it makes pretty patterns in the sky. This though," he pointed at the grenado, "is the war research."

"How deadly is it?"

"On it's own it's more useful to slow someone down than kill them. The pieces of metal inside and the ceramic itself are thrown out at high speed, which cause the damage. The alchemists are looking for ways to improve the grenados but their main drive is their flying-fire. My friend in the Council said focus could be shifted with the right... incentive."

Von rolled the grenado between his long fingers, looking at it, deep in thought. "Can you make this 'black powder'?" he asked.

"No," Spayar said apologetically, "It's a closely guarded secret, just as it is in Ceslarin."

"Figures," Von huffed. "I'll think on it, I want you to show me these things in action so I can see how well they work for myself before we make a move.”

"Of course," Spayar nodded.

Von handed him back the grenado and Spayar put them all back in the box gently, "But for now I want you to go home, take a bath and eat some of your mother's wonderful cooking," and Von smiled brilliantly at him.

Spayar felt himself smile as well, "Of course, my prince, on your word," though he was just doing it to annoy Von. 

Von rolled his eyes at him, "Off you go, I can’t believe you came here first before going to see your mother!”

That made Spayar laugh a bit, “I get work out of the way first,” he said and saw the touch of hurt in Von’s eyes that he considered Vondugard ‘work’. The prince was work though. It was hard being friends with royalty.

 “Well I don't want to see you again till you don't smell like the road,” Von said smartly, covering up his feelings, or maybe understanding that showing him the grenados was work.

“By your leave then, my lord-

“Ahg! Get out of here,” and Spayar laughed as Von basically shoved him out of the room and back into the tower. “And don’t be an ass Spayar,” he huffed, standing in his door.

“Excuse me, your highness, I just can’t help myself,” and it took Von several seconds to understand what Spayar had said and he turned bright red.

“ _Go_. I’ll see you in a few days and you can show me those grenados.”

“All right,” Spayar said, “It was good to see you again, Von,” and Von smiled at him even through his blush. “I’m happy to be home.”

“I’m happy too. Happier if you went home and saw your mother,” and Von made a shooing motion at him. Spayar gave a little mock salute and then walked away, heading down the stairs. He heard Von close his door only after he’d vanished behind the first curve of the stairs.

—

Smoke was still leaving the wide chimney of Spayar Sr.'s forge and Spayar could hear the clatter of hammers and the hissing of metal as he got close enough, drawing his horse up as he got close. It was nearly closing time for his father's forge and Spayar was nervous to see his family. Since the prince had taken interest in him years ago his family had grown a bit distant from him. He was his father's oldest son and was expected to take over his business. His royal highness had had other plans for Spayar that had included private tutors and lessons with weapon masters and training in magic and classes in proper courtly manners. His family was happy he served the royal family so closely, but his father still saw he'd never have his first born take over his forge.

Spayar dismounted and led his mare down the alley next to the house where his father had built a shed for her next to the walled yard. He took off her gear and wiped her down, brushing out the sweat and loose hair. Then he filled her trough with water, though there was no food for her. He hadn’t been home in nearly two years. He’d have to get her food tomorrow, but he was sure she’d eaten some while at the Palace stables. He grabbed his saddle bags and thought about going through the front door through the side yard, but he hesitated and ended up going back out to the street. He wanted to go through the shop front, because he missed the feeling of heat and metal. In Galinsum they’d worked in metal and that had satisfied him, but he missed the strong smell of burning coal and liquid metals that weren’t quicksilver or gold.

He stood looking at his father’s shop under one of the great awnings that lined the sidewalk now that summer was ending, the last days of J’dorr drawing near. Soon the autumn rains would begin where it’d rain nearly every day. Every building in the city was required, by law, to have at least a five foot awning to cover the sidewalk. The one attached to their house and forge was seven feet to allow horses to be picketed and was an expensive blue shade with swirling white stitching that mimicked cloud formations. 

Spayar had to take a deep breath before he went in. He opened the front door and grabbed the bell so it didn't jingle as it closed. 

Since Spayar had become Von's vassal his father had only benefitted from it. Everyone knew Spayar was the son of a smith and they figured if the prince would take the son of a smith to be a friend than his father had to be good at his trade. Indeed, his father was a master from Dirin in the west, across the sea, and had moved here with his mother and infant son to escape a civil war going on there. His business had flourished since Spayar had been taken under Von's wing and his forge had the most state of the art equipment. Like large ventilation shafts that led out to a main chimney and large metal fans in the chimneys to keep the air moving, rising, so the building never grew uncomfortably hot. He had a small army of apprentices now, including Spayar's younger brother who he saw at their father's side as Spayar Sr. hammered at a bar of iron, sweat standing out harshly on his huge, dark, arms while an apprentice held the bar with pair of forceps.

No one noticed him for a time, to which he was thankful for. It meant he could just enjoy what he was seeing. The working of metal bars, the making of ingots, the sharpening of completed blades. He was glad to just watch as boys his age and younger led the life that should have been his before Can'dhe had decided otherwise and claimed him for a higher purpose. The only thing he knew how to do was stoke the fire in the forge pit, he'd been eight then, and how much iron you needed to make an ingot. Watching the apprentices work was confusing, but he could appreciate what they were doing, and could feel the hum of metal all through the forge, down to his bones and into his blood.

Someone finally noticed him, an apprentice with hair that was too long, stopped as he was lugging a bag of coal, "Oh, I'm sorry sir, was there something you needed?" he asked, dropping the coal and wiping his hands on his thick apron. They were younger than Spayar but was already starting to get arms like a smith.

"No," Spayar said, "just tell the Master junior is home," but he didn’t want to face his father just yet. He left the confused apprentice standing there and exited through a side door. The door led to a short, narrow, hallway that ran the width of the forge and led to another door that led to the house so you didn’t have to go all the way around through the side yard to get to the house if you were in the front area.

Relora was in the kitchen, humming to herself, preparing dinner for her family. her skin was even darker than his father's and Spayar felt a deep ache in his chest seeing his mother. It had been at least two years. She didn't even look up when he entered, "Spayar, go wash up, dinner will be ready soon," but of course she meant his father. He’d sent a letter saying he was on his way home, but not the day, he hadn’t known really. Depending on the weather it could have been a shorter or longer trip. They weren’t expecting him. Spayar said nothing and just stood there, waiting for her to turn around. She finally looked over her shoulder, “Spayar do you need someth…“

“Hi mom,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice. 

She looked older than he remembered somehow, but he still thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Which was saying something since Spayar didn't find women beautiful usually. But if a beautiful woman existed for Spayar it was with his mother, she had a high forehead and thick black hair, ceremonial scars decorated her forehead as three dots in a triangle, the Dirinian Dehhavonevotas. Her cheekbones were proud and aristocratic and her mouth small and full, eyes clear and green the color of sea glass. She had a few new creases on her face, at the edges of her mouth and the corners of her eyes, but it made her look wise.

"Spayar," and she lurched over to him and embraced him. He dropped his pack and hugged her back fiercely. He had his father's height and dwarfed her and leaned back as he hugged her, picking her clear up off the floor. She just laughed and squeezed him tighter. He set her down gently and she took his face in her hands, "Let this old woman look at you," she said, all delighted. Her accent different than the Assarus accent and Spayar had missed the sound of it desperately.

"Old woman that looks better than half the girls in Assarus," Spayar said and Relora laughed brightly and kissed both his cheeks and right between his eyes in blessing and love.

"When did you get here?" she asked.

"Just a few minutes ago," Spayar said, "I stopped in the front but dad was busy."

Relora scoffed, "Always so busy that man," and patted his cheeks. "You go wash up. I'm making a delicious dinner."

"Okay," he nodded.

She smiled lovingly at him, seeming to glow with it that made him feel warm all over, "Does the prince know you've returned?"

"Yes," he nodded, "I saw him first."

"Good," she hugged him again, "Go clean yourself up and come back down. Your father should be done by then."

"Time for a bath?" he asked.

"Of course, of course," and she shooed him away. "Take your time, you've come all the way from Galinsum," she wrinkled her nose at the name of the city.

"Okay. I'm glad to be home," and he kissed her on the cheeks and then between the eyes. She smiled at him as he picked up his bag and took it upstairs.

He’d never been so happy to see his bed when he opened his door at the end of the hall. His room was across the hall from his sister Calli’s room. He could hear her moving around in there but he didn’t stick around in his room too long. Mainly long enough to grab a towel and go back down the hall towards the stairs where the bathroom was. The room was lined in tile and the tub was set against the window that overlooked the alley behind the house. The sink had a large mirror, or rather two mirrors, at different magnifications and there was a second door in the bathroom where the toilet was located.

Spayar plugged the tub and turned on the hot tap before he stripped, peeling off clothes that were stiff and stuck to his skin from the weight of the dust. Under them his skin was dark as wet earth and frankly at the moment he felt a bit like one of the clay golems back in Galinsum, moving all stiff and flaking soil wherever he went. Spayar scrubbed down before getting into the bath, habit he’d picked up in the east. The alchemists of Galinsum washed before getting into the tub. It saved water which was a premium there where so much of it was contaminated by their factories and experiments. It wasn’t uncommon the water ran brown or black in Galinsum, despite the Council’s honest efforts to keep the water as clean as possible. They’d even hired dozens of droplets, the common slang for mages who used the element of water in their magic, to purify the water of the city on a regular basis. The excess water from Spayar washing down ran into the drain in the floor that was fed down to the city’s sewer system where it was treated by the Assarus droplets. They did a much better job of keeping the water of Assarus clean than those in Galinsum.

Once he scrubbed Spayar soaked until the water grew cold and the light was starting to fade through the window. He heaved himself from his bath, pulled the stopper on the drain and went to change into familiar clothes he hadn’t seen in nearly two years.

When Spayar finally went back downstairs his father was there, sitting at the table, waiting for his dinner with Spayar's little brother Duren. He swallowed when he saw his father. Spayar Sr. was a man who'd come to the Alliance to escape war and indentured servitude to their king, forced to make swords and weapons and armor to fight against the rebels he thought had the better idea in the first place. To him his work was his life and he was a hard man and a hard man to love, and most importantly a hard man to make happy. Senior would love nothing more than Spayar to become a smith, carry his name, marry a pretty woman, and give him lots of grandchildren. Fate had said otherwise, giving him instead a son who had no interest in girls and gained the interest of a crown prince.

"You just going to stand there, boy?" his father asked and stood up from the table. Spayar moved away from the stairs and went over to the table, wary of what his father would do. He knew he wouldn't get hit, his father would never lay a hand on him, or any of his children, but disappointment was a distinct possibility. So he was happy when his father reached out and hugged him tightly, kissing him on the cheeks and between the eyes.

"Dad," he groaned as his ribs started to protest, "that hurts."

His father released him and put his huge hands on Spayar's shoulders, smiling at him like Spayar hadn’t seen his father do in some time. He was nearly as tall as his father but looked nothing like him. He instead had all of his mother's proud, sharp, features, except for his mouth which was wide and downturned like his father's. Spayar Sr. was a mountain of dark muscle and strong features with a wide nose and mouth, chin that was barely there and a thick neck. He was nearly totally bald with a short stubble covering his scalp and had the blackest eyes Spayar had ever seen. His hands were thick with callouses from swinging a hammer and shaping metal, which he used to squeeze Spayar's shoulder, 

"How are you, son?" he asked and Spayar felt a warmth all the way through his body. Senior and his brother were fresh from the forge and smelled like sweat and heat and metal. Compounded with the smell of his mother’s cooking it made Spayar feel safe, and made him know he was home.

“Good, real good,” Spayar said, "Glad to be home."

"As are we," he motioned to his mother who was busily getting dinner ready. "Sit," and Spayar had little choice when his father basically pushed him down into a chair. A moment later a large cup of cider was being put down in front of him.

"Do I get one?" Duren asked hopefully, unlike Spayar Duren looked like their father, with none of their mother's easy grace or beauty. He was big boned with short, stubby, fingers, a cute, wide nose, and their father’s lipless mouth. But of all the siblings Duren was the only one who’d inherited Relora’s pale, sea glass, eyes. Even sitting Spayar could tell his brother had shot up at least a head since the last he’d seen him, he’d be tall like him and their dad.

"Not for a few more years son," Senior told Duren and he and Spayar toasted. Spayar just set the cup down and a bit away and didn't drink. "What's wrong?" Senior asked once he'd taken a sip from the cup.

"It's alcohol dad," Spayar said, Senior blinked at him, not understanding, "I'm a wizard,” he reminded him.

"Blast it, knew I forgot something," and with a great harumph he heaved himself out of his chair and lumbered back into the kitchen. Duren eyed Spayar's cup and with a wink he scooted it towards his little brother, putting his finger to his lips. Duren grinned broadly and greedily took several large sips.

"Duren," Senior said, "that ain't for you boy," and he picked the cup right out of Duren’s hands, but not before he’d managed to drink half the cup.

"But da-

"You're too young," Senior said and set a cup of juice down in front of Spayar, "That should be more to your liking junior," he said and sat again. Spayar sniffed it. Raspberry juice, he toasted his dad again and drank.

"Calli, Anora," Relora called from the kitchen, "dinner!" Nothing happened, "Spayar, go get the girls," she said.

"Yes mama.”

"Yes dear," and they both got up to go get Spayar's sisters but stopped, realized what they'd done, "Go on," Senior motioned and sat, taking another sip of his cider while Duren sulked about his getting taken. Spayar left the table and went to find his sisters upstairs.

He found the both of them in Calli’s room. It smelled strongly of some flowery perfume and when he opened the door it made him cough. “What is that smell?” he asked, nearly choking.

“Spayar!” was their scream in unison as a reply. Spayar actually yelled when they ran at him and nearly knocked him down.

They hugged him tightly and he protested when they started kissing his face, “Girl germs, girl germs!” he cried and that made them laugh and plant more kisses on his cheeks and forehead. He managed to get away from them and took a few steps down the hall out of their reach. His sisters continued to laugh at him playfully. “Mama says come down for dinner,” he said, trying to straighten himself and wipe their kisses off his face with an appropriate look of disgust. Literally girl germs, his least favorite thing ever.

“You’re home,” Calli grabbed up one of his hands and Anora grabbed the other. Calli and Anora could nearly have been twins if not for the age difference. They both looked like Relora, high foreheads, proud noses and Calli was starting to develop their mother’s high cheek bones. They both wore their curly hair long, but Calli wore hers in pretty braids and pigtails tied with brightly colored ribbons. Anora wore it loose and let it blow in the wind and get in her face.

But he knew his sisters couldn’t be more different if they tried. Calli liked fashion, dresses, and according to letters worked at a florist down in South Garden. She was four years Spayar’s junior, and had a few months left before she had to go serve time, the mandatory military service all feylon were required to serve when they turned seventeen. Spayar had gotten out of his time by being Von’s best friend and by _technically_ not being a proper feylon since he’d been born in Dirin. Anora liked books, science, and maths. She didn’t have a lot of friends but the number of times Spayar had been sent to bring her home from the library before he’d left for Galinsum was a number too high to count on all of his fingers and toes. She was three years younger than Calli and Spayar could just _see_ all the questions she wanted to ask him about Galinsum and the alchemists.

“Yes, I am, now can we go eat I’m starving,” Spayar complained. His sisters giggled and pulled him down the hall and the stairs.

“What was all that screaming about?” Relora asked, seated at the table which was set for dinner.

“Spayar’s home,” Anora said, nearly bouncing up and down next to Spayar.

“Yes, I am,” Spayar said, “we’re all aware I’m home. Can we please just _eat_. I haven’t eaten since this morning,” and he tugged his hands out of his sisters’ and sat.

“Girls, let your poor brother go, he’s come a long way to be home,” Senior said.

“Aww, but papa,” Calli said even as she and Anora slid into their seats.

“Let the man breathe, girls,” he said.

“Uhg,” Calli rolled her eyes and said something to Anora in a whisper. Spayar didn’t know what was said but it made Anora giggle and that probably was _not_ a good sign for Spayar. His sisters were going to kill him.

“Now, lets eat,” Senior said, clearing his throat and sending his daughters a look. They all made a triangle shape with their hands around the table, pressing their thumbs together and above them their index fingers did the same. The sacred triad of the Dirinnans. Looking at your food through a triangle was supposed to bless it. People thought it was weird when Spayar did it since he was feylon. It was one of the few really Dirinnan things they actually did as a family since Spayar and his siblings had been raised feylon and other than a few things the family did had no connection to Dirin or its religious practices.

The triad lasted only a moment before their hands were broken apart and Senior reached for the big platter in the middle of the table and scooped some dark leafy greens into Duren’s plate. Duren just made a disgusted face but ate his greens. Senior dished out the greens to his two sisters, who also didn’t like vegetables. Senior looked at Spayar, “I eat them just fine,” he said, “no idea what their problems are,” and Senior let Spayar dish out his own greens. Honestly Spayar was so hungry he didn’t really care what was going into his stomach.

“How long are you home for?” Relora asked once everyone had filled their plates.

Spayar swallowed before answering, “For a while probably,” he said. “I’m sure his royal pa- highness will have things for me to do around the city,” he couldn’t believe he’d almost said Von’s ‘secret’ nickname out loud. He’d been alone on the road too long, able to complain as much and loudly as he wanted out there. “And its going to be Asurala soon,” and the royal family and their entourage were going to migrate north to the Winter Palace from the Summer Palace in Surassa for the winter. Since it was going to be Asurala he had no reason to go down to Surassa, since Von wouldn’t be there. Meaning he could spend more time with his family.

“That’s good,” Relora said. “So you’ll be home to see your sister go off to serve her time?” and Spayar looked across the table at his sister. Calli looked equal parts nervous and excited. Serving time was a big part of feylon life. But Calli’s naming day wasn’t until the end of Neyjarra.

“I might,” Spayar said, “I’ll make Vondugard let me stay if I must,” he smiled at his sister, because he knew this was probably important to her. The first of their family to serve time. For an immigrant family it was important, it told everyone they were here, and here to stay, that they were and always would be feylon, regardless of where they’d come from before.

“Like anyone tells that prince what to do,” Senior grumbled a little.

“I do,” Spayar said, “all the time,” and that made his father laugh a little.

“Spayar, what was Galinsum like?” Anora asked, finally asking the question she’d been waiting to ask. “What did you do there?”

“Well uh— its a lot to tell,” Spayar said awkwardly. Anora just kept looking at him with eager eyes, and the rest of them wanted to hear too. He wouldn’t get out of this. “Well, Galinsum is a city made of metal,” he started and knew they’d be at this table for a very long time.

 

 


	3. Bone Setter

The sky was bright, but cheerless, and a uniform light gray that washed the color out of everything, making even the bright splashes of color of Von’s clothes seem dull. Spayar was standing in a courtyard with Von of an apartment complex in D’lingar, waiting. Usually no one made someone like Von wait, he was the crown prince after all, heir to the Le’Acard throne. You didn’t just make people like him wait. And Mali was never late for anything.

“What did you do?” Spayar after they’d waited several minutes.

“What? What makes you think I did anything?” Von scoffed.

Spayar sent him a look, “Its Mali. If it were Tassa or Diylan I’d say it was just them being them. But Mali isn’t late, unless you make her mad.” Von shifted a bit guiltily. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Von said. Spayar just gave him a look, “Nothing _that_ bad,” he stressed.

Spayar just rolled his eyes, “What was it?”

“I tried to help her-“ oh boy, this was a disaster in the making, “she was really down a few weeks ago after her boyfriend broke up with her. I offered to set her up with someone.”

“And?” Spayar asked, because that couldn’t _possibly_ turn out bad when it came to Mali. He knew she could be… passionate.

“He was a nice clotter, works for my mother’s personal healer as an assistant. Well he,” Von sighed, “he said he has no interest in fat girls,” Spayar winced though shared Von’s sentiments that that was a stupid excuse for not liking someone. “Apparently he told Mali otherwise and I might have… suggested something I shouldn’t have and she hasn’t spoken to me in like three weeks,” Von finished confessing.

“Good job,” Spayar said dryly.

“I was just trying to help,” Von insisted pathetically.

“I know,” Spayar said, “I’m sure she knows that too. Doesn’t mean she won’t be mad at you though,” Von just frowned deeply. “Wait here,” and he left Von and entered the apartment building. He was getting sick of waiting and didn’t want to do this in the rain. Not after he’d made Mali get them the space to do so.

He went up to the second floor, down the corridor to Mali’s apartment and knocked. He was about to knock a second time when the door was opened. “Hello, Spayar,” Mali wasn’t surprised in the slightest to see him.

“Hello Mali,” Spayar said. Mali was a fairly tall brunette with a thick waistline, thick thighs and large breasts. And those were the least interesting things about her. Much more interesting things about her was that she was a bone setter, a type of healer of the bone element. A very gifted one at that. She and Spayar had been friends a long time, since they both went to public school in west Uptown. “You look lovely today,” he said.

“Coming from you that’s like being told the weather is nice,” Mali said.

Spayar’s gentle nature dropped. He’d forgotten Mali wasn’t the coddling, consoling, sort. She demanded respect and insisted you be frank with her at all times. “I need you to secure the space you reserved for my demonstration,” he said flatly.

“I’m feeling rather under the weather,” she said.

“Vondugard’s sorry alright?” Spayar said, “He’s young and was just trying to make you feel better.”

“Oh _he_ told you what happened?”

“Mali, not to sound condescending, but its you; I could have guessed,” she made a face at him. “I have sisters you know, I know when ‘boys’ happen. If you wanted you could send a letter to Tassa to feel needlessly angry at one of your friends,” the two girls got along like a house on fire. That was to say, splendidly.

“I’ll pass,” she said.

“Then c’mon,” he beckoned. “I’m going to blow things up. You can image its Vondugard’s head,” and that made her smile and cover her mouth when a short, helpless, little giggle escaped her mouth.

“All right,” she said and closed the door. Spayar waited another moment before the door was opened again and Mali came out with an umbrella and locked her door. “How was Galinsum?” she asked as they headed back to where Von was waiting.

“Interesting, boring, full of old men with soft hands. Can’t drink the water, and can’t see the sun half the time. Its also in the mountains so its cold early and warm late.”

She laughed a little, “So a wonderful place then?”

“Oh when it wasn’t miserable, yes it was great,” Spayar said as they joined Von.

“Mali, you look lovely today,” he said hopefully, looking as earnest as Spayar had ever seen him.

“What? I don’t look lovely every day?” Mali asked in a mirthless tone. Von’s face dropped like Mali had just ripped a tooth out and Spayar chuckled.

“What— No, I mean yes, I mean… you look lovely every day,” Von stammered.

“Oh come off it, Mali,” Spayar said. “Give a kid a break.”

“I’m not a kid,” Von insisted.

Mali pointed her umbrella at Von, “You haven’t served your time yet, you’re a kid,” Mali said. Mali had served her time already, all of Von’s close friends _except_ Spayar had served their time. Von had another few months before he was old enough. As it was Spayar knew the Arms, the military branches, had been all abuzz when Von’s older sister Obi had served her two campaigns one after the other. Most feylon just served their two campaigns in a row, some signed on for more afterwards, many went back to their lives and the jobs that were waiting for them back home.

“Neither has Spayar,” Von said, motioning to Spayar nearly accusingly.

“Because you got him out of it,” Mali said. “Didn’t want your _d'aelar_ to fall before the Conflict? Good save at any rate.”

Von opened his mouth to retort angrily, “Guys,” Spayar cut in, “Lets not. Mali, accept your prince’s apology. Vondugard, move on.” Von just scowled.

“Fine,” Mali shrugged, “Now lets go. You promised me some explosions,” she reminded Spayar.

“I did indeed,” Spayar said. He put his arm around Von’s shoulders as they followed her out of the courtyard. They walked six blocks down to the Wizen’s Assarus branch. He’d been to the city of Mur once when he’d visited Mali when she’d done some finishing schooling there, it was predictably impressive. Most people thought the Wizen academy in D’lingar was impressive, but the collection of stone and brick buildings was nothing compared to Mur.

Mali led them into one of the stone buildings, showing her pass and signing the two of them in. The receptionist was nervous about asking for Von to sign in, he was the prince and they knew it as Von wore his medallion around his neck like a pendant and bore the mark of royalty, a crowned unicorn with a sword and scepter crossed behind it and a river running beneath, it was made of pure gold with four rubies at the top, bottom, and both sides. Von and all of his siblings had one and other than the magic and gems involved in their mother’s was a replica of the Asuras’ medallion. Once they were allowed in they followed Mali deeper into the building to a room made of stone. Top, bottom, and all walls made of a thick, hard, rock. A scattering of desks and chairs were pushed up against the walls to be arranged as you wanted.

“Normally this is is geomancers,” Mali said when they entered, “but I figured it’d serve the purpose just fine. Right?”

“Yes,” Spayar said, going to the desk next to the door and taking off his satchel, putting it on the table and took out the firebox.

“Why couldn’t we have just done this in the Palace?” Mali asked, leaning on her umbrella.

“Because I didn’t want Aklin to hear about it,” Von said. Aklin was Virilia’s spymaster, and a complete snoop, which one would expect from a spymaster. 

“Well he will know,” Spayar said, taking two of the grenados out of the firebox.

“What, then why did we-

“He’ll know we were here, and that we used a geomancer work room,” Spayar said. He’d been counting on that. Spayar wasn’t as naive as Von, he knew Aklin had people watching all the royal children whenever they left the Palace. At least the older ones. Before Spayar had left for Galinsum Aklin had only kept light tabs on Von since he’d only been fourteen and not a threat. But now that he was sixteen and going on seventeen and going to be serving time soon Aklin had to keep more eyes on Von. How many stories were there of a prince or princess going off to serve time and after a few years on the battlefield had so thoroughly won over the Arms that the Conflicts that ended up happening were over swiftly? He could think of three off hand as not even the Alliance could withstand its own army and it was an effective tactic to gaining the advantage during a Conflict. Princes and princesses going to serve their times were usually watched _extra_ during their service tours.

“But not what we were doing here,” Von concluded.

“Correct. Here,” he handed Von one of the grenados.

“That’s it?” Mali asked, unimpressed. “I thought you said there would be an explosion.”

“There will be,” Spayar assured her and crafted a quick weave with a few words to create a barrier between two halves of the room, though wouldn’t activate until he said so. “All you have to do is light the wick and throw it,” Spayar told Von. “I think it has a three second fuse,” he added as Von lit the end of one of his fingers on fire and touched the little flame to the string. 

The fuse sparked and started to sizzle and Von threw it away quickly, to the other side of the room. Spayar brought up the barrier, his weave snapping into place quickly just as the grenado exploded. There was a loud bang that had them reaching to cover their ears, and a burst of fire and smoke. Spayar felt the blast press against his magical barrier, the little bits of shrapnel pinging off it before clattering to the ground.

“Well, that was a bang!” Von cried in delight.

“You didn’t say it’d be so loud, Spayar,” Mali complained as she took her hands from her ears.

“Sorry, when I saw them in action it was outside and not nearly as loud,” he said and his weave snapped and dissipated when Von walked through the barrier into the other half of the room. He extended a hand and they watched as his fingers glowed a little and he looked around at where the explosion had been. There was a dark mark on the stone where the initial blast had been and shards of the ceramic as well as slivers of metal lay at the edges of the room and where Spayar’s barrier had been.

“Throw me another one,” Von extended his hand towards Spayar and Spayar lobbed one of the grenados at him underhand.

“Vondugard, what are you doing?” Spayar asked nervously when Von once more lit his finger with a bit of flame. He had to hastily weave a barrier again as the wick sizzled. Spayar covered his ears just before the grenado blew up in Von’s hand. Only instead of a cloud of smoke it just sort of gave an angry puff of ash against the tight sphere of power Von had created in his palm. The explosion went off like a bolt of lightning or a flickering alchemic light and the metal and ceramic fell into Von’s palm, who’s hand was glowing. “Von!” he yelled angrily and marched over to him grabbing his arm and giving him a bit of a rough shake. “Densinn’s tongue what do you think you’re doing?”

“I was testing it,” Von said rather innocently. “Its fine Spayar, I’m fine,” he said.

“It could have blown your hand off,” Spayar kept going.

“No it couldn’t have, it isn’t strong enough for that. I’m fine, see,” and he showed Spayar his perfectly fine hand. Spayar just breathed angrily. He’d been home _two_ days and already he had to worry about Von maiming or killing himself. He figured he’d get a few more years before he had to actually worry about that.

“Don’t do that again,” Spayar said sternly.

“I don’t need to,” Von assured him. “You even said yourself they’re good for stuns and not killing,” Von looked thoughtful and sucked his teeth as he did so. “How many more do you have?”

“Just one,” Spayar said.

“You should test it against something that can take damage,” Mali suggested quickly.

“Like what?” Spayar asked, “Vondugard’s big head?” and he grabbed the top of Von’s head and moved it back and forth until Von smacked his arm away.

“No, be right back,” and Mali left, leaving her umbrella behind.

“I like these things,” Von said, going over to the firebox and picking up the last one. “Who else knows about these?”

“No one,” Spayar said. “They technically don’t exist, since Galinsum ‘doesn’t make weapons’,” and Von scoffed. That might have been true, but there were any number of alchemists who didn’t live in Galinsum who like any wizard used their alchemy to destroy as much as create. “They were prototypes for the flying fire Galinsum is working on creating and were weaponized. But the High Alchemist apparently ‘doesn’t know’ about these things,” again Von scoffed and Spayar had to agree. Von didn’t even know Jenjin and knew that nothing was made in Galinsum that he didn’t know about.

“So you have a friend in high places then,” Von said.

“I know people everywhere,” Spayar said and Von smiled a little.

“Exactly how it should be, then,” Von said as the door opened and Mali came back in with some sort of strange, red, mass about the size of someone’s head that she carried with gloves. “What is that?” Von asked.

“Something some forth year clotter was working with,” Mali said, a clotter was a blood mage, usually specifically a healer. Not that blood magic was really used any other way. “They were done with it so I asked if I could have it.”

“Yeah but what _is_ it?” Von asked as Mali put it on another of the tables and dragged it to the middle of the room.

“Its a blood stone,” Mali said.

“A what?”

Mali rolled her eyes, “Solidified human tissue, especially blood and marrow. Healers use it since its all the stuff you need for mending,” Von looked a bit green. “What?” she asked.

“I see,” he said.

“If this makes you queasy you don’t even want to watch the classes at Mur,” she said and shrugged, adjusting the blood stone a bit and then peeled off the gloves. “You learn how to make blood stones and some mending classes have blood stones the size of people for demonstrations or practice.”

“Wonderful,” Von said and swallowed.

“So, lets blow it up,” Mali said.

“Alright,” Spayar said slowly. He was with Von, it was a little weird and a lot creepy. He took the grenado from Von’s hand and put it on the table next to the blood stone then went to stand with his friends and wove another barrier into place. “Von,” he prompted and Von flicked his finger towards the grenado. A mote of light and heat jumped off his fingertip and raced toward the grenado. Spayar rose the barrier as the fuse started to burn.

They all winced when the last grenado went off and the blood stone exploded along with the grenado. Blood splattered across Spayar’s barrier, which he kept around the top of the table to reduce the mess, and covered the entire table top. “That was so satisfying,” Mali said.

“Galinsum should make weapons more often,” Von said and that made Spayar and Mali laugh a little. “So that’s it then?”

“That is indeed it,” Spayar said.

“Very good,” Von said, “I’m sure we can work something out with this.”

“That was the thought,” Spayar said and let his barrier down, all the blood falling to the table wetly. He grimaced and Mali pulled a towel from one of the desk cabinets and wiped it down.

“I think we’re done here then,” Von said. Spayar made an agreeing noise since he could see Von wasn’t really paying attention anyway. He was thinking, and planning. Well, plotting was probably a more accurate term for what Von was doing. Plotting the death of his entire family, but such was the life of a Le’Acard. Always plotting to kill one another. They weren’t even vague about it either. “I need to get back to the Palace,” Von said.

Spayar blinked as he came to a realization, “You’re skipping your lessons again,” he said accusingly.

“Maybe a little,” Von said shrugging.

Spayar sighed and rubbed his eyes, grabbing his elbow with his other hand in frustration. “Von, I thought we agreed you’d _go_ to your lessons.”

“That was like two years ago,” Von said cheekily.

“Go back to the Palace before a runner finds me asking me to find you. I will drag you back there and glare at you the rest of your lessons if I have to,” he said sternly. 

“You wouldn’t,” Von said, looking stricken.

“I would,” Spayar said, since when Von skipped it was _Spayar’s_ fault. He couldn’t have been blamed while he was in Galinsum, but now that he was back he was sure it’d be the same as before. “Do you want me to see you to your horse?”

“No,” Von said, “… but you aren’t coming?”

“I have things to do,” Spayar said.

“Like what?” because Von couldn’t comprehend that Spayar did anything but deal with him.

“I have people to go see.”

“And he has to help me clean up this mess,” Mali said, “unless you want to help?” she asked Von.

“Uh… no. Lessons it is.”

“I’ll check,” Spayar called after Von as he darted out of the door.

“How do you put up with him?” Mali asked when the prince was gone.

“I don’t know,” Spayar groaned.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Spayar sighed. “Did you really need help?”

“No, I’m done. But I could tell he wanted to be clingy.”

“I’ve been gone two years, I’m not surprised,” Spayar said, since most of the times Von skipped his private tutoring was to come bother Spayar in his home in Bellringer or at school in Uptown. He was used to Von being around, or wanting to be around. Even when he’d been in Galinsum Von visited several times, and always by wyrmback, just to show off.

“He needs to grow up,” Mali said, all business. “I know you’ve been gone, but the rest of us have been here.”

“Gods,” he sighed, “bad news?” he asked.

“I only know some things,” she said. “You’d have to ask your other contacts for other things.”

“I know that. Now what is it? I need to know.”

“The Clan witch doctors have been… bold, as of late,” she said. “Some of them went to Mur, demanding they be allowed to learn there, and teach there.”

“They think they have a reason,” Spayar said mostly to himself.

“They were turned away of course, but not before nearly starting a riot amid the wizards there.” Spayar bet there _had_ been a riot. The tensions between witch doctors and wizards was on par with the Rosalia and the Drake blood feud. They hated each other, the witch doctors thinking the Wizen were full of themselves and their rigid ideas of magic, and the Wizen hated the witch doctors for being magical heretics. Even the Foot shamen got along better with the Wizen than the Clan witch doctors. Then again shamen were viewed as sub class wizards while witch doctors were barely considered magically talented at all.

“Fantastic,” Spayar said. “What’s the popular theory on their brass?”

“That they’ve fallen in with a Le’Acard,” and Spayar went still. “I’m not sure if that’s true, but that’s the rumor around here.”

“Do you really think one of them is foolish enough to fall in with the Clan?” Spayar asked, not having to fake his worry.

“I hope not,” Mali said. No one in the Alliance liked the Clan. They’d been brought into the fold of the Alliance in the early twelfth century with the help of the Nedalians and other north western Sea provinces. The tribes had nearly been obliterated from their own stubbornness, yet here they were, eight hundred years later, thriving. They didn’t do anything like proper feylon, lived in the wilderness, didn’t have a Governor and didn’t fall under the circuit of judges. So long as the Sins were unbroken and they paid their taxes the Clan didn’t have to abide by any other feylon laws. It was little wonder most feylon had no love for the Clan.

“Does Von know?”

“Probably just the rumors,” Mali said, “Or he might suspect. Teldin was in Assarus all summer and had several ‘gatherings’. No idea what for.” Spayar cursed. It was _never_ good when princes had meetings in a capital opposite the Asuras.

“Alright, anything else?”

“I don’t know what its like in the other neighborhoods, but food’s gone up in price in D’lingar,” she said.

“Like how much?” because that was an entirely different level of stress Spayar didn’t want to deal with but could see the head of the beast rising up from  the horizon.

“So far fresh bread has gone up two coppers, a bushel of strawberries have gone up half a bronze.”

“Small enough to be unnoticeable by most,” and again Mali nodded. But that made no sense. Prices were more or less fixed. The crown controlled all coin and every bank in the Alliance was heavily monitored and under strict regulations. They kept only a certain amount of atrins in circulation at once and in the two thousand years the Alliance had been around inflation had only really effected gold atrins and the atrus. It kept prices consistent and things relatively cheap, as did inter province trade. The only things that really ever fluctuated in price were luxury items or things made my skilled artisans. Staples like bread or, in the central Alliance, summer strawberries, didn’t change price. 

Spayar went back into his well of knowledge. All those classes he’d been made to take on the Alliance and commerce and trade came in handy more often than he’d like to admit honestly. The last time prices in bread in Asuras had gone up was seventy-two years ago when early, freak, rain storms had drowned out and ruined acres and acres of fields in and around the Meltong Basin and there had been a food shortage. Prices in bread had gone up an entire bronze and dozens of people in the Mire and Downriver, even in the outer reaches of Sinoulin had died of starvation. If bread was going up two coppers and strawberries five then it’d effect all the food sold in Assarus within a few weeks.

“There’s a bad harvest,” Spayar said.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Mali said, “I just know what people are saying in the academy.”

“Food’s going to get more expensive,” Spayar said, “so if you can, start saving, who knows how high it’ll get.”

“Spayar you’re acting silly.”

“I mean it,” Spayar said. “The last time bread prices wobbled at all it went up an entire bronze. There’s going to be a bad harvest, hopefully it’ll just effect around Assarus so we can import food in from the rest of the Alliance.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” but Spayar was honestly very worried. Any fluctuation in prices of the most common goods in the capitals didn’t spell good news for the rest of the Alliance either. “That it?”

“That I didn’t send in letters,” Mali said.

“Good,” he frowned, puffing his cheeks a little, “You don’t have _any_ good news for me?” he asked.

“I have a new boyfriend,” she said, walking past him to the door, “and he’s a wonderful little idiot name Jon,” she continued as Spayar followed her out of the room. “I met him after Von’s stupid clotter told me I was fat.”

Spayar chuckled, “That _is_ good news,” he agreed. “You going to tell him?”

“Gods no. I love seeing him look so guilty for something that wasn’t a big deal.”

“You’re a horrible person, Mali,” Spayar told her as she signed herself and Spayar out, checking the room back in for use.

“Ah but that’s why we get along so well, don’t we?” Mali asked, threading her arm through Spayar’s as they left the building. She swung her umbrella as she said, “Like attracts like and all that.”

“I think I’m much more horrible than you,” Spayar said.

“I bet you aren’t,” Mali said.

“I bet I am,” and they continued that all the way back to Mali’s apartment down the street. “And this is where we say goodbye,” he said when they arrived at the stable for the apartment.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow-

“Gods, shut up you _are_ more horrible than me to be quoting that old bag of wind,” and Mali’s laugh was like a hyena cackle. He went to get his horse, he hadn’t bothered to take off most of her tack since he’d barely been gone half a bell, and brought her back out to the street. “I’ll be in touch,” he said and then grunted as he pulled himself up onto her horse’ wide back.

“I’ll let you know if anything interesting happens,” she told him. He nodded and clicked his tongue at his horse and she started forward. Mali didn’t bother to watch his horse’s ass and just headed back up to her apartment.


	4. City by the Sea

 

There was a messenger at the door. They were dressed in the pale blue of the messenger's guild, their tunic proudly bearing the golden insignia in the top left of his chest. It was gods’ balls early and Spayar had heard their light knocking through the window even up a story. His room wasn’t even _above_ the door, Calli’s was, but Calli didn’t wake up for anything. So there was Spayar in barely his night clothes, half awake, at the door and this damn messenger was so chipper and awake. Spayar didn’t know them, but he hated them. “I have a message for Spayar Hillsman junior," they said.

"That's me," he said tiredly.

"Royal message for you," and they reached into their satchel and pulled out a roll.

Spayar groaned, "Damnit Von," he grumbled. The messenger didn't move to go, "You want something?" he asked once he’d taken it.

"Tip?" he asked.

Spayar almost didn’t give him a tip, for waking him so early. But he wasn’t that much of a dick, this poor guy was just trying to make a living. "Just a sec,” he said.

"Sure," they grinned and Spayar went and found a bronze atrin that he handed to the messenger who smiled brightly, thanked Spayar for his time and left.

Spayar didn't open the message until he was back in his room and laying in bed again. He was going to look at it then go back to sleep. He rubbed his eyes and unrolled the message. 'Spayar, we're going to Peonia. Be at the gates by the eighth bell. No belly aching. I'll buy you a pretty boy when we get there. V' "Fucking..." Spayar lurched out of bed and looked out the window to the big clock tower, the Taldradin, in the Bellringer district that most of the city used to tell their time. It was half past the seventh bell. "Damn that man!" he yelled and rapidly got dressed, splashing his face with some cold water and started to rapidly get everything together, running back and forth from the bathroom and trying not to be too loud.

"Spayar, everything all right?" his mother poked her head out of her room from down the hall as Spayar left his own, fully dressed, his saddle bags already packed and over his shoulder.

"The prince is going to Peonia and dragging me along. I'll be back in a few weeks I'm sure," he didn't sound happy about it. Relora frowned, she'd been expecting more than a week with her son. But when a crown prince was your best friend you did what he said.

"Have fun," she said as he came even with her bedroom door just next to the stairs.

"I doubt it," he groaned and went down the stairs. He walked across the house to the front door and left through the side yard to where there was a shed where his horse was waiting for him. She didn’t look happy to see him when he opened the stable door and started to put her tack on.

“I know. I know, girl,” he said patting her neck, she just gave a snort and shook her head a bit. “Its Von okay? Blame him,” and she snorted as if to say, yes, of course she would blame Von for this. He finished saddling her quickly and he started down the street on her back he looked at the Taldradin. As he did the bells started to ring across the city, the eighth bell. He cursed under his breath the entire way to the palace after kicking her into a swift canter.

Von was waiting for him at the main gates, leaning forward on his horse, a big, long haired, roan stallion. "There you are, what took you?" Von asked once he saw Spayar.

"Well maybe if you weren't so damn stupid as to give me half a bell of notice I would have gotten here sooner," Spayar snapped, still in a rotten mood from getting woken up soearly. Normally he'd hold himself back from snapping at Von in public but he was tired and pissed.

Von didn't even seem to notice, or care really, "When I say the eighth bell, I mean the eighth bell, Spayar. Not half past it."

He just groaned in frustration, "Whatever your royal pain in the ass. Are we going to Peonia or not?"

That brightened Von's mood considerably, "Yes, we are. Lets go, before my keepers realize I'm gone."

"Does anyone know you're leaving?"

"Nope," Von grinned deviously.

Spayar sighed and nudged his horse to follow Von as they left the main gates into the Fey's Shadow district. "What are we going to do in Peonia?"

"It's just a detour," Von said, "I want to buy something there and then we're going north to Nedrag."

Spayar blinked and prodded his mare up to keep pace with Von's stallion. You didn't just go to Nedrag. For starters there wasn't anything in Nedrag. It was a tiny city set between some cliffs and had no real political or economic importance. It was a city that existed and did some trade with other ports on both sides of the sea but exported little. Nedrag was a city you didn't visit for fun or a holiday either because there was nothing there, it was a fishing city, industrial. 

Well, there was _one_ reason you went to Nedrag. Next to the city, separated by only a single wall, was the Rose Garden, an area surrounded by a black wall and buffered against cliffs. The Rose Garden was home to one of the greatest noble families in the Alliance, the Rosalia, and almost more importantly than that it was the one place on Priman'osta you could go to receive proper training to become a necromancer, a priestess of the death god, Lemp and summoner of nercro.

"You're going to see the new High Priestess?" few had yet to approach her. She was older than them by almost ten years but her mother had just died less than four months ago. He knew because four months ago the priestesses who served in Galinsum had returned to the Garden for the funeral. The Garden had been mostly sealed since then, or so the priestesses said. But you didn't say no to a crown prince when he came to visit. At least Von hoped so.

"Indeed I am," Von said chipperly. "I heard her daughter's naming day is coming up. I also want to give my personal congratulations and empathy for her mother's passing," he had a pensive look on his face for a moment, "It isn't easy to lose a parent. Right?" he looked at Spayar for agreement. The fact that Von even asked would have been odd coming from anyone else. But because it was Von, he didn’t think twice that of course Von wouldn’t care if his parents died. He was plotting to _kill_ them.

"It isn't," Spayar said. "It isn't a social visit though is it?"

"Oh gods no," Spayar said as they entered one of the main avenues and could put their horses into a quick trot. "Like I would go to the Garden for fun," he made a face, "That's why we're going to Peonia first," he smiled and Spayar just sighed and dropped back to create a single file with the stallion. Sometimes being the best friend of a prince was more trouble than it was truly worth.

—

Compared to their real destination Peonia was an epicenter. The largest and most important port along the coast of the Shard it was one of the most powerful cities in the entire Alliance. Trade from all across Priman'osta flowed freely through Peonia, even from the Federation. The city was decadence given form and in the wealthy districts, closest to the Keep, everything seemed gilt or rimmed in jewels. In the main avenues of the Golden Peony district, the wealthiest, the roads were made of gleaming white stone and the shops were all clean, the bouncers that stood outside nearly every one of them were well dressed and groomed. The traffic moved in an orderly fashion in Peonia unlike in even Assarus where things could get jumbled. Here the police enforced strict traffic rules, especially in the Golden Peony. There were so many people in Peonia, from so many different countries or cities that allowing everyone to do it the way they wanted would have just resulted in chaos.

"You see one you like yet?" Spayar asked Von as they led their horses down the avenue, staying with the flow of traffic. They were looking for a place to spend a few nights before continuing north to Nedrag.

"It isn't dark out, so I can't tell," Von said and Spayar groaned. Along with being an important trade hub on the Shard Peonia was also known as the pleasure city where you could satisfy any vice and just about any sin. Most of the most popular places in Peonia were the brothels, all of them filled with beautiful men and women. It was said Peonia bred even their low commoners beautiful, that there was something in the air that made the people here pretty.

"Von, we're here for an inn, not a fuck," he reminded the prince.

"Same thing," Von flapped his hand at Spayar, "and besides I said I'd buy you a pretty boy. So don't look so glum."

Spayar rolled his eyes, "I am quite capable of finding someone myself," he said.

"I know but I'll pay for it."

"Von you idi-

"Oh that place," Von pointed to probably the most expensive inn in the Golden Peony. It was a four story building made of soft, pale, wood and creamy stucco walls. The roof was pitched steep and the overhang extended further down than was needed, which kept with the style of Peonia. Large flower baskets hung from the ends of the eaves and the doorman was dressed immaculately with a sapphire leopard lying by his side boredly. They'd paid a wizard to enchant a sign to glow even in the daylight, the large letters announcing it as the Swan Song inn and brothel.

Oh lovely.

"You just had to pick the most famous one in the city didn't you?" Spayar sighed, the Swan Song was said to have been the first brothel in Peonia, or at least where the Peony family had come from. You couldn't get a clear story about how the Peony had risen to power, the only thing all the stories agreed on was that the first Lady Peony had led an open rebellion against the old King Gerrin with an army of whores and bashers during the mid thirteenth century. Gerrin had been killed and she'd installed herself in his place. This was before the country of Aldash had become part of the Alliance in the early sixteen hundreds. But like most small nations here in the south they'd been happy to submit to the Asuras when they came knocking. It was that or fight and end up consumed anyway, or worse, burned to the ground like old Balentine. Peony had become a major house after they’d bent at knee.

"It's the Swan Song Spayar, of course we're going to stay there," Von said and they cut across the road to the brothel. A holster came to get their horses. "You get us a room, I'll see to the horses."

"And try to keep your hands to yourself, at least until we get situated," Spayar sighed as Von went with the holster to stable their horses. Spayar walked up to the door, the leopard growled at him a little but the doorman opened the door for him with a nod. Inside the Swan Song was like what it would look like inside a jewel. A grand staircase led up to the second floor where you could rent rooms or flesh and on the first floor was a place to sit and eat with couches where women and men lounged, some fully dressed, some half naked.

Spayar ignored them and walked up to the second floor and the reception desk, "Hello sir," the man behind the desk was probably the ugliest man in the building but was still attractive. His skin was dark, common amid those who lived along the gut, the subtropical coast of the eastern Shard, and he wore many golden earrings on his ears and two on either side of his bottom lip. "Have you seen our girls-

"Not here for girls," Spayar said.

"Oh, well we have-

Spayar wanted to just grab his hair in frustration. Why did Von have to pick a brothel? And why did they even have to stop in Peonia? "I need two rooms," Spayar said, "they should have a connecting door.”

"Oh, I see," he looked down at his ledger book.

"I want the best rooms you have."

The man looked him up and down, "Are you sure, sir? Or best rooms are very expensive."

"Yes," because of course Spayar looked like he couldn't afford them, dressed as he was in his riding gear and covered in dirt.

The man sucked one of the rings on his bottom lip, "Of course," he said and made a note in his ledger. He turned around to a wall full of small cubby holes for the keys and picked out two. As he did someone came up behind them, Spayar turned to find Von, with a porter holding their bags. "Can I help you, sir?" the pierced man asked.

"I'm with him," Von pointed at Spayar, "Get our rooms?"

"Yes I got the damn rooms," Spayar said.

"They're going to the royal suits," the pierced man told the porter and handed him the keys.

"Why are you so testy," Von said as they followed the porter up the stairs to their rooms.

"Because you picked the Swan Song to stay while we're here."

"It's a nice place," Von said.

"I'm going to have to force you away from this place. Don't forget what we're doing here."

Von waved him away, "Don't you worry Spayar, I know well why we're here."

"Then act like it," Spayar scowled at him.

"Here you are, sirs," the porter said, they were on the third floor. He unlocked the doors for them and put their bags down inside each of the rooms. Von put a silver atrin into his hand as a tip and the porter left.

Von closed his door and followed Spayar into his, "Would you just try to relax a little?" he asked.

"I'm sorry I have trouble relaxing when we're on a trip to plan treason," Spayar hissed at him. "Don't forget that's what this is Von; this is treason."

Von frowned at him, "I know what it is Spayar. But I have to," Spayar looked away from him, because he was right. Von had four siblings older than him, and three younger. His mother had given her children plenty of reasons to be wary of in the form of their siblings. It spurred Von to do everything he did, including this plot to overthrow his mother before his older siblings did. If he didn't do it before them he'd die. Von didn't want to die. Spayar didn't want him to die either. They both knew he needed to do this since only an idiot didn't see how much his two eldest siblings craved his mother's throne, or hear at least some whispers about unrest amid her children. Von almost didn't even want to be Asuras; he just didn't want to die.

"If you get the Rosalia you'll have a powerful ally," Spayar said and sat in one of the chairs in the room. He wanted to wash and change his clothes but he wouldn't while Von was here.

"It's a calculated risk. I could gain her favor-

"Or piss her off while she's mourning the loss of her mother."

“I know,” Von frowned. "I also want to try for the Drake, maybe.”

"Drake and Rosalia at the same time? You are certainly ambitious," Spayar said, "what would offer Lord Jollen to work with not just you, but the Rosalia?"

"I don't know yet."

Spayar drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, "Well, you better figure it out."

"Can we try to enjoy ourselves while we're here at least?" Von asked and brushed his fingers across the top of Spayar's had. Spayar shivered and did his best to not let it show. Von smiled at him a bit as Spayar looked up at him, still moody. 

Finally he sighed, "Okay."

"Excellent, now excuse me I need to wash. I saw the most delightful little flower downstairs," and he made for the door. "You find someone you like too-

"Bye Von!" Spayar yelled after him and Von laughed as he darted out of the door to his own room. Spayar groaned and rubbed his head. He was a masochist, it was the only explanation for why it was he did what he did and why he continued to torment himself. Maybe he should find someone to enjoy while he was here, some blond white boy with blue eyes would probably help. At the very least it’d be a start.

—

The streets of the Golden Peony were rather crowded as it got later. Spayar, Von, and a whore he’d bought from the Swan Song were on their way to a well known theater to watch one of the new plays showing. "So me and my friend are going to a party," Von was telling the pretty thing hanging off his arm as the three of them walked down the sidewalk.

"Really?" she asked, "Do I get to come?" she batted her eyes at him.

"I'm afraid not. I don't think your company would be welcome.”

"Nonsense, I make any party better," she claimed.

"It's for a three year old's naming day," Von said.

"Oh," she made a slight face and Spayar laughed.

"I don't think they're mother would appreciate me bringing you along," Von apologized. "But, perhaps you can help.”

"Anything," she said sweetly, holding onto Von’s arm with both hands.

"I have no idea what to get a little girl for her naming day," and the whore laughed. "Would you be able to help me with that?"

"I think I can do that, my lord," she said and leaned over, kissing him on the cheek. Von moved his arm to around her waist. Spayar just rolled his eyes.

"You find anything interesting Spayar?" Von asked him.

"Von," Spayar said, "I know you mean well, but really knock it off," he gave his friend a look.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, Spayar couldn't remember her name, it was Jasmine, or Camellia, or Lily or some flowery.

"My friend is being a stick in the mud," Von said as they arrived at the theater and got in line. Normally Von would just announce himself as a Le'Acard and not only would they be seen in that moment but they'd also get the best seats in the house. But Von didn't want others, especially Aklin, to know he was here. So they waited in line. "Can't seem to enjoy himself in Peonia."

"Oh my, that's terrible," she said, "Well I have some friends who might be able to help him with that," and Spayar was never more thankful of his dark skin than when he flushed.

"See Spayar," Von grinned at him.

"I doubt it," Spayar said.

"Is that a challenge?" she asked him as they moved up in the short line.

"Spayar has a very acquired taste," Von said, "he isn't so keen on the fairer sex."

Her eyes changed instantly, she almost seemed disappointed, "The best looking ones always do," she sighed.

Von paused, looked between them and then said to Spayar, "I think she just called me ugly."

Spayar laughed, "I think she did," he agreed.

"Ah, no, never," she was quick to assure Von. "It's just we don't get many of his kind around here.  Dirinnans aren't the most common sort even in Peonia and I know all manner of girls who'd love to get their hands on his dark skin," and this time Spayar wasn't the only one who flushed. The tips of Von's pointed ears turned pink. "I think I could find someone you'd like though," she promised with a sweet grin.

"I think that would be an excellent idea Mari," Von said. Of course; Marigold, how had Spayar forgotten that? They they were at the kiosk, "Three balcony tickets," Von said and pulled out his purse. It was five and a half silver which Von handed over without looking and was given their tickets. "Should we get something to eat while we watch the play?" he asked Mari.

"Yes," Mari said.

"Spayar," he handed Spayar his purse, which was actually rather light, he'd left most of his money back at the Swan Song, "go get us something. And try to have a good time," he winked at him and led Mari to an usher who looked at their tickets and led them away. Spayar frowned after them a moment before going to find a concession. 

One day he was going to be rewarded for all this errand running and mess cleaning. It seemed like the moment he'd met Von he'd become the man's keeper. When his tutor couldn't find Von for lessons they'd go find Spayar and even if Spayar didn't know where he was he was expected to locate the prince. He'd been picking up after Von for nearly ten years, sure he also helped make the mess most of the time but that didn't mean he always enjoyed the aftermath of it. One day he wouldn't serve a prince, but the Asuras and his advisors would be the one cleaning up Von's messes, that or Von wouldn't make so many damn messes.

A pretty girl took his order at the counter, they'd bring their food once it was ready, straight to their balcony. It was a service only offered to those who had one you had to prove with your ticket. He was paying when he felt someone looking at him. He paid he looked to find who was watching him. His eyes widened and he walked over to them. “Tassa?” he asked, unable to believe she was _here_. Peonia was the _last_ place he’d ever expect to see Tassa.

“Oh my gods,” Tassa said, her eyes wide, “I didn’t think it was you,” and she hugged him. He hugged her back tightly. He hadn’t seen Tassa, along with many of his other friends, since he’d gone off to Galinsum. Spayar had only a handful of ‘old’ friends, but she was by far the one he’d had the longest. They’d both gone to the same public magic school as children in Uptown. There Spayar, completely by accident, he’d made friends with a cut purse from during a mandatory magic class all gifted children had to take, so they didn’t end up blowing themselves or someone else up by accident. That cutpurse had been Tassa, the daughter of a lower ranked member of the Peony family who ran all of Aldash. “It feels like forever,” she said, still hugging him.

“Wasn’t too bad,” Spayar said and they parted. Tassa was, to be described in a single word; magnificent. She was probably the most beautiful woman Spayar knew, if only because he’d never seen more fools trip over themselves to win her favor withlarge eyes, elegant eyebrows, full, pouting mouth, small nose, wide hips, narrow waist and perfectly proportioned like Anceion had taken _special_ attention to her vessel. Her long black hair was done up in ringlets and several expensive hair clips made of jewels and gold held it back out her perfectly shaped face accented delicatly with a golden lip ring on her lower lip. Her dress was extravagant and form fitting, leaving not a single curve to the imagination, and screamed nobility.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, still holding his arm.

“I’m here with Vondugard, we’re just… Visiting,” he said.

“I see,” she said, not believing him for even a moment.

“And what are _you_ doing here?” Spayar asked. Tassa was a Peony, but not part of the main noble house. He knew Tassa hated Peonia and preferred Asuras where here father had raised her.

She sighed laboriously, “I’m visiting my cousin,” she said. “He asked me to come to the opening of his new play he produced a month ago and well, I did. I’ve been here ever since.”

“You sound thrilled,” Spayar said dryly.

“He’s so _incredibly_ boring Spayar,” she complained. “I think he’s trying to get me to marry his son,” she rolled her eyes. “He’s a Tann,” she said like that explained everything. To an Aldashi like Tassa is did though. Their familial hierarchy was strict. Tassa’s father was an Ito, third rank, Tann was sixth rank, the bottom of the familial pyramid. It meant Tassa and her cousin were removed from each other by blood at least three times.

Spayar winced in sympathy, “Is his son at least bangable?” he asked.

“Not even,” she groused, “he hasn’t even served his time. He’s a _boy_. Oh there they are,” and she forced a smile and waved over Spayar’s shoulder. Spayar turned around and saw an older man standing with a young man, waiting for her. The older man waved back. Spayar grimaced, her cousin seemed far too large for his clothes and his son hadn’t yet grown into his strangely large nose. “Save me,” she said desperately.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about it?”

“Can’t I watch the play with you?” she asked, grabbing onto the front of his shirt. “Please?” she gave him her cutest pout.

“I thought we’ve been over this that I’m not at all impressed by your girlish charms,” he said dully.

“Don’t be annoying, Spay,” she said.

“Alright, you can see it with me,” he said, she smiled at him. “What about your cousin?”

“What about him?” she asked and he was about to clarify when she put her hand over his mouth and stage kissed him. A long stage kiss. He groaned in annoyance but at the very least played along. Then she let him go, “Just show me to your seats,” she said, putting her hand on his arm and lifting up the long train of her dress so the delicate fabric didn’t drag along the carpet.

“Won’t your cousin be mad?” he asked as he started to walk away.

“I’ve been here a month, he knows my patience is wearing thin. As it is I’ve already brought men home with me a few nights, and some of them came with the help of some coin. Hopefully now he’ll send me home.”

“One can only hope,” Spayar said dryly. “But was that necessary?”

“I wanted him to see I’m interested in _men_ and not little boys,” she leaned against him a bit, “You’re the best man I know.” And he frowned a bit. That should have made him feel good about himself, but it didn’t in the slightest. It just made him feel like a dick honestly.

They found an usher who directed them to the balcony their tickets were for. When they tried to send Tassa away she just told him who she was and he not only apologized, he bowed and said he hoped she enjoyed the play.

They climbed the stairs to the top floor and their conversation stopped when they saw someone crouched, eye against a door he realized was the balcony Von and Mari were in. They wore the clothes of a middle class Aldashi, and didn’t look like they belonged.

Spayar went over to them ad grabbed them by the back of the neck, making them stand. The man yelped in surprise and still holding their neck made them look at him, "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"Uh..." Spayar recognized them. Not personally perhaps, but he knew who this man was.

He shook them, "You tell the spymaster prince Vondugard is enjoying a trip uninterrupted to Peonia. If I find any of his men skulking around him while we're here I'll take their hands and have them kicked out of Peonia. You can tell him Hillsman told you.”

“Y-Yes my lord!” they cried, terrified. Spayar tossed the man towards the stairs. They scrambled to their feet and nearly ran down the stairs. He saw Tassa make a subtle hand motion and whisper the words of a spell. They both heard the man lose his footing half way down the stairs and cry out as he crashed down the rest of the flight.

“That wasn’t necessary,” he told her.

“Spies and thieves don’t really get along well,” was her only excuse. “Vondugard and his flower are in there?”

Spayar just nodded and opened the door, nearly rolled his eyes at what he saw. Von and Mari were kissing, Von's hand very nearly up her skirt. Spayar closed the door loudly and they broke apart, Von's face turned a faint red color. "There you are," Von said, his voice an octave higher than usual. Like Spayar hadn't seen him kiss girls in front of him before and he’d have to be in the room next to him when he banged one tonight. Seeing him kiss girls was at the bottom of the list of things Spayar had time to worry about. “Tassa,” he said, mouth open a bit, eyes wide.

“Your Highness,” she said and bowed, but she did it in the same way that Spayar did it where she did it to annoy him. But coming from Tassa it was _far_ more elegant and less sarcastic.

"Food will be along in a bit," Spayar said and sat down on Von's other side.

“Who are you?” Mari asked, practically glaring at Tassa. Spayar didn’t blame her for feeling threatened.

“Tassa Hau-Peony, flower,” Tassa said with all the regality of her status and elegantly sat on Spayar’s other side. Mari positively _wilted_. “Its such a pleasure to see you again Vondugard,” and it was like Mari wasn’t even there. Sometimes Spayar really did have to wonder about the allure women had on straight men. He never acted like this around handsome men. At least he was pretty sure he didn’t.

“Indeed,” Von said and swallowed, closing his mouth but still staring openly.

“Oh, the play’s starting,” Mari said, drawing Von’s attention away from Tassa’s perfection towards the stage below. Spayar wasn’t really watching. He was thinking about Aklin’s man. If he was here that was bad for all of them. Aklin and thus the Asuras would know Von was here within the day, if not a few bells depending if how quickly that spy could get to a post office and if it was even still open.

Intermission happened and the food was finally brought. They got up from their chairs at the front of the balcony to eat at a small table at the back of it. As they ate Spayar leaned over to Von to speak softly, "One of Aklin's men was outside your room.”

"They were? Damn," Von hissed.

"I handled it. But it'd be a good idea if we left tonight, or early tomorrow."

Von frowned, "We just got here," he whined.

"Yes but my threat won't outweigh Aklin's orders to keep an eye on you for very long. This one was clumsy, the next one won't be."

Von sighed, "You're right-

"As usual."

"Only some of the time," Von said. "We'll leave tomorrow. I want to at least have some time here."

"Okay," he let Von go back to his mean, "we can always come back," he added, his voice level normal now, "after the party."

"Ah! An excellent idea Spayar," Von said, "Seems you can have some fun."

"Everything all right my lord?" Mari asked Von.

"Nothing you need to worry your pretty head over," Von said and patted her thigh. Spayar just sighed softly.

They finished their dinner and watched the rest of the play, Spayar paying a bit more attention to it than before but was lost anyway because he’d zoned out during the first half. He could tell it was about some Aldashi legend involving a man with a bird’s head and something that looked like a strider but wasn’t fighting over the love of a woman. Or something, he was lost. He was just glad when it was finally over. 

The four of them got up and left the balcony room, as they did Tassa put herself between Mari and Von, putting her hand through Von’s arm. Spayar tried really hard not to laugh since Mari looked incredibly insulted and Von looked beside himself. 

“So what are we doing now?” Tassa asked when they left the theater. It was dark out and the street was lined and lit by alchemic lamp poles at regular intervals down either side of the sidewalk.

“We were going to buy a gift for a little girl’s naming day,” Spayar said.

“Oh that sounds fun,” Tassa said.

“You weren’t invited _whore_ ,” Mari said, though not the same way a feylon would, but rather the way the Aldashi did. It was the only Aldrese word Spayar knew because Tassa had gotten fed up one day while listening to people from Assarus talk about prostitutes. He’d gotten the entire etymology lesson about the Aldashi word _whore_ , which basically just meant an entertainer, some who did perform sexual acts, some who didn’t.

Tassa turned to Mari and in possibly the most polite tone Spayar had ever heard Tassa speak said something to the other woman, but it was all in Aldrese and over Spayar’s head. Mari did get very pale and then flushed brightly in humiliation. Spayar cocked his head when Mari stormed off.

“Tassa, I paid for that,” Von complained.

“From where, the street?” Tassa asked snidely, “ _slut_ ,” okay Spayar also knew that Aldrese word too. Tassa also got mad at feylon who used that word incorrectly too.

“She works at the Swan Song,” Von huffed.

“The Swan Song is a tourist trap, your highness,” she said, “the people there are third rate at best. Now, what was this about a gift for a little girl?” and she expertly guided Von away from the theater and the conversation of his bad taste in women, Spayar following after.

“We’re going north to Nedrag for the new High Priestess’ daughter’s naming day,” Spayar supplied.

“How old is she?” Tassa asked Von. Spayar couldn’t see Von’s confused face, but he could guess.

“She’s two,” Spayar said, “Its her first daughter,” he added.

“Hmmm, I think… there’s a nice little shop just down the street. They’re mostly imports from across the Sea, but affordable, and carry jewelry and little this and that sort of things. Perfect for a little girl.”

“Then lead the way,” Von said, motioning to her. Tassa led them to a large store front, and within every surface was covered in something to be sold. Glass jars, scarves, gloves, Jotulla incense by the stick, rings and bracelets and necklaces all hung from walls and off stands. It all looked to be incredibly high quality and each piece of jewelry was unique and had its own peg on the wall. In the shop front, behind glass, was a piercer, sitting on a stool boredly reading a book.

“I don’t want anything _too_ gaudy,” Von said, still just following Tassa, clearly not knowing at all what to get a little girl.

“Of course not,” Tassa cooed. “Maybe a hair comb from Anokai?” she asked and they stopped in front of an array of combs that you were supposed to leave in the hair as decoration as well as use it as a comb. “One with wide teeth,” she pointed at one with a bird on it. “Though the Nedalian love their deer,” and she pointed to another one of a deer curled up in the grass.

“Hmmm,” Von unhooked his arm from Tassa and started to really look at them hard.

Spayar went to stand up next to Tassa, “What’s your game?” he asked.

“None really,” she said, “that _slut_ he bought just bothered me. I thought you’d have better judgement of who you let close to your prince,” and Von wasn’t paying attention to them at all. He was talking with the store clerk about what sort of comb would be best for the kinky sort of hair Nedalians had.

“ _And_?”

“Let me come? If I say I’m going to a Governor’s daughter’s naming day it’ll be a good enough excuse to get out of here without being rude. You know my father is always telling me to be less of that,” Tassa said.

“Yes,” Spayar said, “and your father, wonderful man that he is, has the backbone of a squished grape,” and that made Tassa giggle just a bit. He’d met Kenna, nice man, very quiet and unassuming. Didn’t have a confidant bone in his body either.

“Please, Spay?” she asked sweetly.

He sighed, “I’ll ask. I don’t know if you can come.”

“Excellent,” and she kissed his cheek.

He grimaced and made a gross sound that made Von turn around and look at them, “Everything all right?” Von asked.

“Tassa’s just getting her girl germs all over me,” Spayar said making a grossed out face, Von laughed a little, Tassa did not. 

 

 


	5. The Mourning Rose

They’d left Peonia early the morning after seeing the play. Tassa, unfortunately, had not been allowed to come. He’d never seen her so uncomfortable as being told that morning in front of her cousin that she had to stay, but Von said they’d be back to see her on their way back to Asuras. Spayar highly doubted Tassa would still be there, even though Nedrag was only a two and a half day trip from Peonia.

The city of Nedrag and the surrounding area sat in a low part of the land. The little bay the city sat in was enclosed by two cliffs that rose up as though they were embracing the sea and sky with open arms. Nedrag was set in the lowest part of the cliffs, in the only bit of shore there was, the main roads arranged in semi circles around the the docks. There were also buildings cut into and built onto the northern cliff face with intricate stair ways leading down into the city proper. Ships bobbed out in the bay where the water turned a darker blue as only the smallest boats able to get close to the port and avoid the perils of shallow water. The city itself were neat plaster white buildings with flat roofs, sitting in neat rows like teeth in semi circles around the port.

Directly next to Nedrag, separated by a black wall, was the Garden. If Nedrag was monochromatic, with only the blue sea to contrast it the Garden made up for it by being every color in the spectrum. The largest building, the Grand Temple, at the center of the Garden was a pure alabaster and a gold gilt roof. Across from it, down a paved walkway, was the chapel, and it was as black as the Grand Temple was white. Where the Temple was full of beautiful sweeping curves designed to look like it was hovering above your head without supports and had large stained glass windows in the front of a silver man with a moon for a halo, the chapel was squat, windowless, building and straddled the pathway like a toad. The air seemed dark around the chapel, which was also an eighth of the size of the Temple, and Spayar was glad he'd never get to go in there.

More paved pathways branched off from the Temple like the spokes of a wheel, that went to white buildings of various sizes. Some were cottages, others looked like dormitories or classrooms, stables, forges, training grounds, and then up near the cliff it was buffered against was the large graveyard. Each plot was marked with a post with a white circle placed on it's apex; the sign of the full moon. Along every walkway and on the walls of all the buildings except the chapel and Temple flora of all colors was visible. This far north flowers didn't have a season and bloomed nearly all year round. The Garden was a riot of color, purple climbing up the side of a house, thick stripes of yellow and red flower beds lined the pathways, rose bushes with flowers as big as your hand were practically everywhere. It was a perpetual springtime paradise in the Garden.

"I hate this place," Von said from his horse as they looked down at the city and Garden from the top of the southern cliff face.

"You have to admit, it does look pretty," Spayar said.

Von looked at him with a frown, "You know what they do in there, don't you Spayar?"

"Yes, I am well aware," the teaching tables were legendary in the Garden. They regularly held live dissections on criminals who broke one of the Sins, the worst crimes you could commit in the Alliance: treason, incest, pedophilia, slavery, necrophilia and blasphemy. If they survived the ‘lesson’ a healer tended to their wounds, regrew organs if needed, and they were put back in cells until needed again. The necromongers who taught lessons in anatomy were experts at keeping their 'patients' alive for weeks. If a prisoner survived six months on a teaching table without dying all their charges were dropped and they were free to go. Spayar didn't know of one time someone had made it all six months, not since the tables had become a punishment late in Sinou’s reign.

That wasn't even the end of the horror that went on there though. Spayar was sure he didn't know half of it, and didn't want it; was glad he didn't know.

"It's sickening really," Von said.

"They aren't all like that," Spayar said.

Von looked at Spayar, "They're a noble house of the Alliance Spayar," he said seriously, "they're all like that."

"They're powerful allies," Spayar reminded him.

Von sighed, "Yes, they are. And I suppose they could be worse. I could throw my hand in with the Clan. I heard my sister is doing that. Idiot," and he tapped his horse's side and they headed for the Garden, following the road that wound down the cliff.

“Your sister?” Spayar asked. “Which one? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Who cares, its the Clan,” Von scoffed.

“Its important. I’ve only heard rumors, how do you know?”

“One of Tallalsala’s friends was mouthing off. I heard she had them punished for it.”

“I don’t blame her,” Spayar said lowly. Secrecy was the best weapon a Le’Acard had. If your siblings found out you were making _real_ plans and with who it just accelerated and exacerbate the coming Conflict.

There were two entrances into the Garden, the Rose Gate, and the Sea Gate. The Sea Gate connected the Garden to Nedrag and allowed people to move in and out of both places without having to go around to the front Rose Gate. Three necromongers, a skeleton crew, was manning the Rose Gate, the portcullis down and looked like the vines of some creeping plant. The walls surrounding the gate were covered in spines like a barbed rose and a large red stone had been carved into the shape of a rose to hang over the entrance, the black stone that housed the gate and made up the wall looked like leaves. The necromongers looked at the two of them as they approached. "The Rosalia are accepting no visitors now," one said.

Von looked at Spayar, "We come in the name of crown prince Vondugard Le'Acard. We're here to see the High Priestess, Lady Governor Helida Rosalia. Now open the gates or the Asuras will hear about how you turned away her son's envoy," Spayar said. He was good at this stuff. Making people scared, not of him really, but the power behind him. He knew how to make people do what he wanted them do. Just a few right placed words and all sorts of doors opened up for him.

Of course it would have just been easier to announce Von himself, but he didn't want people to know they were here. They'd been careful coming to the Garden from Peonia not stopping at towns along the way and keeping away from the main road. Von also hid their tracks both in essence and in physical evidence like hoof prints. To the Asuras her children didn't just visit an important house for no reason, at least not one like the Rosalia.

The necromongers looked at one another and spoke amongst each other a moment, Spayar looked over at Von, what the hell were they going to do if they didn't get in? It didn't come to that though, "Tell his highness that our doors are always open to him," the necromancer said and the necromongers opened the portcullis. Von and Spayar walked under the Rose Gate and through to the other side. The portcullis thumped down behind them.

They rode to the Temple, no one came out to get their horses, but one of the stables was nearby, clearly for visitors, and they took their horses there and saw to their needs. Helida wasn't going anywhere after all. "Don't forget the present," Spayar said as he lugged in some hay for their horses to share, the feeding grate connecting the two stalls. 

"I got it," Von said, taking out the velvet bag, "Lets hope we didn't come at a bad time."

"Her mother just died, Von," Spayar frowned at Von.

"It was almost three months ago Spayar, surely some of the bite is gone," Von said with a frown, "and her only daughter's naming day is approaching-

"It's in four days," Spayar supplied. He'd been tasked to know the naming days and names of every major noble house growing up, that included the new ones too. Von knew the heads of houses and important others. He didn't have to remember the others; that was what Spayar was for.

"Good. So lets hope she isn't so damn depressing. This place celebrates death after all."

Spayar frowned at Von, "That isn't very fair Von."

"I'm the crown prince-

"These people could be one of your best allies. Your mother made herself no friend to Maja when she was alive, siding mostly with the Drake on important house politics when the two were involved. They're also the only place we get our priestesses of Lemp from and without them balance between the gods is upset."

Von frowned hard at him, "Why do you have to be so damn smart all the time, Spayar?"

"You made me that way," Spayar said.

Von sighed, "You're right."

"You find when it comes to house politics I usually am. You play the capitals, I play the houses. It's how it goes," he shrugged helplessly.

"Right. C'mon _d'alaer_ ," and Von left the stables. Spayar followed after Von without a word. Von only called him his _d'alaer_ , an old Fey word meaning zealous servant, when he was either annoyed with Spayar or stressed out. Spayar only tossed the word around when he wanted people to pay attention that he wasn’t just some commoner. His medallion marked him as a _d’aelar_ , the unicorn and feathers, and it got him as much respect as an lord, even though he was just a commoner. He didn’t always like when Von called him that though, because _d'aelar_ also could mean someone who had no will outside of their _donalim_. In other words, they lived to serve. Spayar didn’t know how he felt about Von thinking about him like that.

“Of course, my lord,” he said under his breath, and followed him out of the stable and down the drive to the Temple’s entrance.

The Temple had no front door, it was simply open in the front though great curtains hung off the sides, pinned up with large ropes, that could be let down to keep rain or dust out of the Temple. Inside the Temple it was as grand inside as it was outside with shiny, multi-colored, marble floors and delicate white pillars. Frescos decorated the walls, most of the scenes involving death and fierce women wearing decorative masks riding pure white deer. Others involved the jogull, naked men with stag heads, eating the flesh of fallen warriors, and one depicted the three furies with gleaming swords and dark armor, ready for war. 

This part of the Temple was totally open and at the back was a large, silver, statue of a man, Lemp, one of the twin head gods, ruler of the moon and the Shadowed Lands. He stood with one foot supporting most of his weight and you could see his ribs and clear line of his pelvis even through his clothes. Rubies the size of Spayar’s fist had been carved to make his eyes and in one hand he held a glass orb that glowed gently from the inside. A representation of the soul no doubt. In the other hand he held a shepherd's crook that he used to support himself.

"Bad timing," Spayar whispered softly to Von. The Temple was filled with people, all kneeling on the floor watching three people standing under the statue of Lemp, one women and two men, singing in a language Spayar didn't know. He had to assume it was Nedalian, the language the necromancers spoke before their country had become part of the Alliance, the one their Red Book was written in. The woman was a soaring soprano while the two men behind her were basses.

Von tugged Spayar over to a wall and a small alcove where incense were burning gently. Spayar looked up at the fresco and grimaced, they stood right under a jogull, his maw dripping blood and with wild red eyes. Sometimes it was easy to forget that as gentle and forgiving as the feylon religion was that creatures like this existed within it. "What is this?" Von asked Spayar quietly to not disturb what was happening.

"No idea," Spayar whispered, "I think it's some sort of service."

"Is it a holy day?"

"Why are you asking me dumb questions Von? I'm not a Nedalian, how should I know?"

"Cause you know stuff,” Von insisted.

"I don't know this," Spayar glanced at the Temple and the singing people. It was a very hauntingly beautiful sound he had to admit, though also kinda creepy. What did the Rosalia do that wasn't a bit creepy though? "We'll just have to wait it out."

"Damn," Von muttered but they had no choice. So they stood back, out of sight, waiting for it to end. Spayar's feet started to hurt before the song- songs?- ended. Everyone in the Temple bowed, touching their heads nearly to the floor and then stood up. The sound of hushed talking was nearly instant as they left through the main front entryway. Spayar recognized all of the people as necromancers or necromongers, there hadn’t been a single non necrotic person at the service.

Once the last person had filed out Von stepped out of the alcove, "Okay, lets find the High Priestess," he said and Spayar followed him down the side aisle to walk down to where the Temple had doors. Behind the main area of prayer the Temple also contained the rooms of nobility, the true Rosalia, since every man and woman who served Lemp called themselves Rosalia.

Von knocked on the door to the living area and a servant answered the door, "Can I help you, sirs?" she asked.

"We're here to see the High Priestess," Spayar said.

"She isn't seeing anyone."

"We're envoys of the crown prince Vondugard. Ask her if she'll see us," Spayar said. 

The servant frowned at them, "I will ask," and she closed the door on them.

"What if she doesn't see us?" Spayar asked Von.

"Helida isn't stupid. She'll see us."

"Does she know we're coming?"

"No. But I know Tallalsala came and saw her. Helida nearly invoked my mother's wrath when she quite literally threw my sister out on her ass," Von chuckled.

"But?" Spayar asked, he hadn't heard this.

"It was a few weeks after her mother died and as you said, my mother and hers were not friends. She threatened to call forth an army that would make what happened at Balentine look like nothing if my mother wanted to 'punish' her for her Tallalsala's rudeness which included some very nasty things including stripping of titles. In the end Tallalsala had to apologize and my mother smoothed things over."

"Your sister is an idiot,” Spayar said with a snort.

"She is," Von said passionlessly.

“And your mother barely better.”

“Oh I am well aware, I am related to them,” and that made Spayar chuckle a little.

"You'll do better than her," he said as the door opened again to the servant girl.

"She's agreed to see you," the servant said.

"Thank you," Spayar said and they followed the servant into the hallway beyond. She led them to a room at the back of the Temple complex and knocked. Someone within bid them to enter and the servant opened the door, Spayar and Von went in a sun room with couches and a low table. The glass wall on the opposite side of the room looked out to a small courtyard. The room ceased to exist around Helida though, who stood in the middle like the warrior goddess Kinera. Helida wore a dress the color of storm tossed water, gray and blue and cold that made her chocolate colored skin look gray and cut to show her powerful arms and legs so no one could forget she was both a woman and warrior. Her long, brown, dreadlocks were piled on the top of her head like a crown and she wore small yellow flowers in her hair. She had one brown eye, and her right one was the color of a drop of blood. Despite her mourning gown Helida did not look like she was grieving. Instead she stood tall and proud as the new High Priestess and Governor. 

She bowed lowly to Von, "Your highness," she said.

"You knew it was me?" Von said, hands behind his back.

She looked up at him with cool eyes, "I know everyone who enters my Temple," she said, "and I expected someone else to come along eventually after her highness Tallalsala made such a mistake.”

Von smiled a glass smile, "I am actually not here to speak of politics at all," he said nearly distractedly.

"Oh?" she asked.

"I came for two reasons," he said and stepped over to Helida. He took her hand in both of his though she almost pulled away, "I'm sorry about your mother," he said sincerely and Spayar actually wondered how sincere he truly was. Von didn't do things like this unless he could benefit from them. "I know our families did not get along as well as they should have while she was High Priestess but she was an amazing woman, the world shall mourn her passing as I'm sure Lemp is glad to have someone like her back with him."

“Thank you for the condolences, your highness,” Helida swallowed and it was the first time Spayar saw a chip in Helida's immaculate armor, and extracted her hand from Von’s. "No doubt she's at peace in the Shadowed Lands." Von and Spayar crossed themselves.

"I also know that your daughter's naming day is coming," Von changed the atmosphere in the room in that sentence, "I had hoped to be invited," he held up the velvet bag he pulled out of nowhere. Spayar didn't even bother to question where he'd been hiding it.

Helida appraised her prince, clearly looking for lies, deception, or a way to make her look a fool in an attempt to regain his sister's honor. The truth was though Von didn't give a shit about his siblings, much less Tallalsala. He was here for himself and yes to celebrate little Paja's naming day. After a few moments Helida allowed a slight smile to come to her face, "It would be an honor my lord," she said. "I'll have some rooms for you prepared for you both. I assume you aren't here publicly?"

"No," Von said, "Discretion would be appreciated. My mother doesn't want her children anywhere near the Garden until... oh how did she put it?" he seemed to think a few seconds, "Oh right, until 'that new red witch has remembered who holds the power'." Helida's eyes narrowed, Von shrugged, "But I am nothing if not a misbehaving son."

"You may want to be careful your highness," Helida said, "Roses have thorns."

"I'll just wear gardener's gloves then," Von said cheerfully, not all all off put.

Helida looked him over a last time, "You're better than your sister," she said.

"My sister is a moron," Von said without remorse. "So, those rooms my dear High Priestess? My vassal and I left our bags out in the stables. Also maybe something to eat? My vassal and I are starving."

"Of course. Perhaps also a bath," she said mildly, Spayar wrinkled his nose but did agree. "I'll have Nemi air out some of the guest rooms, you may make yourselves comfortable until they're prepared and have your bags brought to them," and she headed for the door to get the servant.

"Helida," Von said as she opened the door.

"Yes, your highness?"

"I am sorry about your mother. I can only imagine what it must be like,” Helida had her brother and father still, but in a house like the Rosalia that was like saying your best friend was still alive. She’d lost her sister and her mother and none of her own children were even grown yet. She was, effectively, an orphan in the eyes of the province of Nedalia.

Helida looked over her shoulder at him, "Something tells me you will, your highness," and then she left the two of them alone.

Von nearly fell into the nearest chair, "Holy crap!" he cried and pressed his hand to his chest, "I have never been more scared of a woman in my entire life."

Spayar grinned as he sat down across from Von, "She is quite something.”

"I felt like she was going to snap me in half with just her eyes," Von sagged in the chair.

"She is the High Priestess," Spayar reminded him.

"Ahg! I must be a fool to try and play with the Rosalia. No wonder my mother distanced herself from this house when she could. They're terrifying!"

Spayar laughed, "Weren't you the one who said all the noble houses are this bad?"

"They are!"

"And that you wanted to try for the Drake as well?"

"Uhg, don't remind me. I can wait on the Drake until I feel like I'm not in danger of having my cock ripped off and stepped on by a necromancer," Spayar chuckled again, "Laugh it up Spayar. I'd like to see you talk to her."

"You forget," Spayar said, "everyone you know and associate with is above me and could kill me whenever they wanted, for any reason. I'm used to dealing with people who make me squirm. It's a good lesson for you to find someone who scares you."

Von was frowning at him, "Anyone touches you I will turn them inside out," he said seriously.

"I wasn't being serious," Spayar said, acting unaffected though was honestly surprised Von would have such a strong, violent reaction to someone wanting to kill him.

"I am. You're my friend Spayar, the only one I have really. I'll send someone to the tables if they try to kill you." 

Spayar swallowed, he didn't realize he was so important. He knew he was Von's friend, his best friend really, but he didn't realize that Von felt so strongly. He sometimes thought their friendship was lopsided and uneven. Spayar loved Vondugard in every way someone could love someone else. For years Von was the only thing Spayar concerned himself with, and still he was one of the few things Spayar had time to worry about. For some reason he always thought it was a one-way street and that while Von was the most important thing to him he wasn't the most important thing to Von. It was nice, to hear otherwise. That yes, Spayar was important to Von. Spayar honestly didn't know what to say to that since he was reminded so rarely of how much Von cared about him.

He was about to say something, maybe something foolish, when the door opened, saving him from himself. It was another servant woman, this one looking much more everything than the one who'd showed them here. "Sirs, your rooms are ready. If you'd follow me," she said and they both heaved themselves out of their chairs and followed her. She led them to another hallway and to the first two rooms, across from each other. "You missed lunch," she said, "but Lady Rosalia is having food brought to your rooms shortly."

"Excellent," Von said, "Thank you," he nodded to the woman who just brushed something invisible off her apron and left them. "Bath and food?" Von asked him.

"I'll come over once I'm out," Spayar said.

"Good," and then Von vanished into the room he'd been given. Spayar slipped into his own. It was well furnished but rather undecorated. He guessed the Rosalia weren’t keen on guests, or maybe they didn’t get many very often. His bags were on a low bench at the end of the bed and there was a door to a bathroom on the left. He stripped and went to the bathroom, thankfully it looked the same as the one back home with an above ground tub. He knew inset tubs were becoming popular among the wealthy, Spayar just found them difficult to get in and out of.

The water was luke warm even on the coldest setting and there was over a dozen vials and bottles of every scent he could imagine and a few he couldn’t, as well as three different soaps. He picked the mildest smelling ones he could find and washed. It felt good to get rid of all the dirt. He heard someone enter his room but leave again without announcing themselves, probably just his lunch. His stomach growled then, reminding him of how hungry he was. Spayar had planned on soaking in the bath a bit but his stomach demanded he do otherwise, so he climbed out of the tub.

There was a tray on the side table filled with cool and raw foods. He groaned. Shit, he forgot the Rosalia were vegetarian. He'd been looking forward to meat, but no meat was allowed inside the Garden and other than specific sacrifices no animals were allowed to be harmed here either. If you wanted meat you had to go to Nedrag. Spayar looked forlornly at his meal before making himself dress. Dressed in comfortable, dark clothes that turned him into a shadow he strapped the knife he always carried to his thigh, grabbed his tray and went to Von's room. He used a bit of magic to push the door open so he didn't have to take his hands off the tray.

"Von," Spayar called as he entered.

"Still in the bath," Von called back as Spayar closed the door.

"Still?" Spayar sat on Von's bed, putting the tray in his lap and started putting food in his mouth. He didn't care if it was vegetarian, he was starving. Honestly he didn't even notice the lack of meat as he ate some sort of savory tart filled with cheese and vegetables.

"It feels wonderful," Von said delightfully from the bathroom, the door was ajar but Spayar couldn't see inside. "You didn't want to relax?"

"I'm eating," Spayar said, his mouth full. From the bathroom Von laughed.

"I do have to admit," Von said, "This did turn out better than I expected."

"You expected to be ejected?"

"As soon as she saw me honestly," and Spayar heard water sloshing around. "Honestly it's like some of these houses still think they rule," Von muttered, just loud enough for Spayar to hear. Spayar snorted. Every Governor’s house in the Alliance had once been the rulers of a sovereign nation. Old Nedalia had had two, a weak king and a much stronger faction of priestesses who served Lemp. Nedalia had joined the Alliance in the mid fifth century when the Le’Acard had promised to dethrone the old king and make the High Priestess and her family Governor. 

“Well in a way they still do,” Spayar shrugged as he shoved an apple slice covered in honey into his mouth and nearly gagged on how sweet it was, "You only rule through their agreement of an alliance," he went to eat the rest of the food on his tray instead of the honeyed apples which he pushed off to the edge of the plate.

"I know," Von sighed.

"Then why do you make me remind you?"

"It'd just be so much easier if the Alliance was smaller, and I didn't have to worry about such high and mighty nobles."

"I don't," Spayar said.

"You're not a Le'Acard," Von said and Spayar heard more sloshing. "You don't have to worry about the stuff I worry about."

"Yeah I just have to worry about you. And let me tell you, one Le'Acard is enough to... worry about," Spayar trailed off as Von came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and he swallowed thickly. Before he'd left for Galinsum Von had been a kid, he'd been fourteen damn years old and seeing him shirtless was like seeing a child shirtless and there was nothing to see. That was two years ago and Von's visits to Galinsum had come maybe twice a year for a short period of time, this was the longest he'd spent with his prince in two years. In two years Von had grown up and he definitely didn't look like a child now and had some hair on his chest and a defined abdomen he definitely hadn't had when Spayar had left. His arms were muscular and his skin was bronze all over, meaning he'd trained, outside, shirtless, during the summer. Spayar blushed and stared and thanked every god he knew his skin was too dark to show it.

"Yeah but you like it," Von didn't even seem to notice and smirked at him, pleased with his come back before going to find some clothes. Spayar stared down at his tray. Good gods when the hell had Von become a man? He always sort of knew it but he still thought of Von as that fourteen year old kid he'd left in Assarus two years ago. Von definitely wasn't a kid anymore. This just made it worse for Spayar honestly.

"It has its benefits," Spayar said and cleared his throat, very nearly tugging on his collar.

"Well of course. I mean you get to be in my presence," Von teased.

Spayar snorted, "Yeah, the presence of the most royal pain in my ass," he said but was still staring at his tray as he heard Von pull on his clothes. His knuckles were pale he was gripping the tray so hard. He wanted to look, but he didn't. 

"Food any good?" he asked as he sat next to Spayar and finally he could look, oh thank the gods he was dressed. Von had his own tray of food next to him, between the two of them.

"For nothing but vegetables, yes, its good," Spayar said forcing his hands off the sides of the tray and made himself eat. The gods were testing him with giving him a hot best friend, one who was also a prince. It was a cruel test.

"I forgot they don't eat meat," Von popped one of the little cheese and spinach tarts into his mouth thoughtfully. "Honestly I don't know why the Drake and Rosalia don't get along. The wyrms are vegetarians, the necromancers are vegetarians, the Wyrd practically sustains itself on fish and chicken."

"So they should get along based on their food preferences alone?" Spayar rose his brows at Von.

"Why not? Not like their hatred is any less stupid. Do you even know why they hate each other?"

"No," Spayar said. The reason for the blood feud had been lost centuries ago, and had started when the Rosalia had first started to train necromancers, decades after they joined the Alliance. All anyone knew was that the two factions loathed each other and the feud had nearly led to civil war several times since the fifth century. And no one even knew why, not even them. It had just always been.

"No doubt its over something stupid. Like a girl, or a pig, or some insignificant slight," Von said, unimpressed as always with the petty hatred between the Rosalia and Drake.

"Who can say honestly," Spayar said. "So other than Paja's naming day what is your plan here?"

"Nothing," Von said.

"Nothing?"

"Yes. Nothing," Von had found the honeyed apple slices and was polishing those off while he eyed the ones Spayar had left on his own tray. Spayar didn't like sweet things that much, he knew Von did though.

"What do you hope to accomplish with that?"

"That I'm better than my mother," Von said. "I've been planning what to do for a while and honestly Tallalsala's screw up was a great opportunity for me," he smiled a bit madly. "My family has lost the art of subtlety the last few generations. My mother didn't even kill her own father, she just found my uncle who'd thrown the coup and killed him, taking his place. It's all brute strength and no brain in my family. Bless my father for being a snake in the grass and slithering into her bed."

"Which none of your siblings got except you?"

Von shook his head, "Teldin is good," his oldest brother who was nearly twenty-five and clearly growing anxious that his mother was still on the throne. "He's overly cautious, but a good match for my brain," he tapped his temple, leaving a slight residue of honey. It took more willpower than Spayar wanted to admit to to not wipe it away with his thumb. "Can I have those?" he pointed to Spayar's honeyed apple slices, the only food left on his tray.

"Yeah," Spayar said and Von helped himself to the plate they were on happily. Spayar smiled slightly, he liked making Von happy, even if it was just small things like honeyed apple slices.

"I have sources," Von said, the apple slices vanishing down his throat quicker than they maybe should have while he was talking, "who tell me Teldin has put his lot in with the White Foot and the Wren-Kal."

Spayar frowned, "Both are powerful," he said. Spayar hadn’t heard that. As it was he’d only heard that Tallalsala was in with the Clan. He hated being out of the loop for long and knew he had a lot of catching to to do once he got back to Assarus, a lot of contacts to call upon and get all the information out of.

"Yeah. Tallalsala, from what I've heard, is approaching Clan chieftains. She knows Teldin has started to move."

"What about Obi and Dellin?"

"They probably also know. Honestly if I know then my mother knows and so do my older siblings," he didn't mention the younger ones. Malora, Cashchil, and Gurrin were all too young to worry about politics. The next oldest, Cashchil, was only twelve. "Though if I know about the White Foot and Wren-Kal I don't know about others. Military officials, master smiths, lower houses. All important."

"Was the Tallalsala coming here a reaction to her learning about the Wren-Kal?"

"Possibly," Von said licking the last of the honey off his fingers and the natural frown on Spayar's face deepened. "She moved too quickly, pissed off a potential ally, and then went whimpering back to mother."

"Teldin will move soon?"

"I don't think so. You know the White Foot, everything they do is methodical; slow. They're nearly backwards compared to the rest of the Alliance. He won't move until the White Foot are ready, since their magic will be a great asset to him."

"How long do you think you have till he makes a move?"

"A year, if I'm lucky," and Spayar swallowed. Von was marking his life at one more year if he didn't stage a coup first. Damn the Le'Acard and their practices. Why couldn't they just wait till the old Asuras died or stepped down like every other kingdom? Why did the death of an Asuras always come accompanied by so much blood shed? Right, because the Alliance was like no other kingdom on Priman'osta. 

“You can’t be serious,” Spayar said.

“That’s like, middle of the road optimistic prediction,” Von consented. “I might have twelve months.”

“But so soon?” Spayar didn’t like to think of Von dying. At the very least during that time he’d be away serving his time, getting allies there and far away from his siblings. Though would Teldin let his little brother with a _d'aelar_ actually go serve time? Spayar might even go serve time with Von, even though he didn’t have to, just to be there. An heir and his _d'aelar_ in an Arm would cause movement that not even Virilia could ignore, much less Teldin.

“Hopefully more, but I’m being realistic,” Von said. “You know its coming.” Spayar bowed his head, he did. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he knew Conflict was coming. "Once I'm done here I need you to return to Galinsum-

"You're joking," Spayar said. "I've been home a week-

"I need you to go to Galinsum and speak with the High Alchemist," Von just talked right over him. "You're the only one I trust enough to do so."

Spayar puffed out his cheeks irritably before he sighed, "Yes, my prince," he said helplessly, "As you command." At the very least Von didn't look happy about Spayar's obedience. "And where will you go while I go to Galinsum?"

"I'm going to head south-

"Please don't say Peonia."

“Yes, but also no no. Lord Peony loves my mother, she has that slut in her pocket and sucking her non existent dick. I'm stopping in Peonia if Tassa is still there before going to Alderin."

Spayar thought about who lived in Alderin. It was a fairly large city in the province of Kou on the other side of the Sway river and controlled the intersection of the Westerlance and the Sway Road. There was no governing noble family there, so lower, probably a military official, high ranked for a city like that even if Alderin wasn’t interesting in itself. How ‘low’ of an official would Von personally visit. Probably not very low. "One of your mother's praetors lives in Alderin," Spayar said, barely not phrasing it like a question.

"He does."

Spayar blinked, "You're going to try for a praetor?" he asked, though wasn’t really surprised. It was a better idea than the Archon since usually when the Asuras died they were either killed or forced to step down. The Archon only obeyed the Asuras and was dangerous to have around when you took the throne. More than one Archon had betrayed a new Asuras once a new heir had been produced warrant the tradition.

"X'vazior and my mother have been on the rocks lately. She wants to try and capture land beyond the Mesa Plains, X'vazior publicly refused to lead his Arm across it-

"That happened like five years ago," Spayar's brow creased, "I thought she forgave him."

"Publicly. He still shamed her, and she humiliated him by having him whipped in the Summer palace's courtyard. X'vazior is holding onto that grudge."

"You know for a fact?"

"My mother summoned him the Summer palace this year. He said he was busy and could not 'tend to her every whim' when he was working on fixing the roads she refused to pay for,” Von said.

"He really doesn't like your mother."

"You would be surprised how many people hate my mother," Von sighed and sat back, holding himself up with his arms. "She spends frivolously, she's a coward who hides behind her title, she wants to be a conqueror when every province is trying to find enough money to just keep going and can't afford a real war. She shuns powerful houses because they frighten her and I heard that the Shade are simply not reporting anything. Any of Aklin’s men who are sent into the LoHaJo’in province never come back, the Shade kill them no doubt. The Drake are starting to bite a bit too hard on the Rosalia and my mother isn't doing much to stop them. I've heard rumors that normal people are starting to be aware that a Conflict is coming.` My mother can't hold the Alliance together and people are angry."

"Does she know this?"

"She must," he sighed and rubbed his head like he had a headache, "Aklin's a good spymaster. He knows things I could never dream of knowing about her, about what's going on. I think she's too scared to do anything. She doesn't know how to be Asuras." Spayar did not agree or disagree. He didn't know much of the Asuras except how they were going to get rid of her, but his father certainly complained about her plenty, usually in the same breath he complained about Von 'spiriting his son away to be his lap dog'. Spayar was usually too busy focusing on everything else to look too hard as his Asuras and the only thing he truly knew about her was that she did kill her brother during his coup before he could kill him. "She's an idiot with a wooden sword trying to train lions," Von sucked his teeth, "and now they're starting to growl at her and she doesn't know what to do."

"You'll do better," Spayar said.

Von looked at him, his brow low over his eyes in a worried look, "I have to be if I don't want to die," he said. "For my survival I need to be better," and he looked away. Spayar didn't know what to say to that. After a moment of hesitation he reached over and put his hand over Von's, Von twisted a few of fingers to grasp Spayar's.

"We'll be fine," Spayar said softly.

"I hope so," Von said, looking at him again, "I really hope so."


	6. A Well Behaved Man

The Rosalia weren’t a house known for their parties or festivities. They were a somber house mainly, full of ritual and solitude. At least that was what Spayar was expecting. The reality clashed against his expectations badly and he found himself pleasantly surprised. Everyone in the Garden and some people from Nedrag came to it. There was singing and dancing and music and a myriad of small children running around underfoot getting in everyone's way and eating until they passed out. No one tried to silence any of the yelling children from enjoying the little Rosalia’s naming day. 

Spayar and Von were out of place though, and even though neither of them were strangers to parties, seemed oddly awkward. They didn’t know how to act at the naming day celebration of a little girl. They were used to more adult get togethers than this. 

He did try to enjoy himself though and he and Von found themselves in a circle of necromongers smoking a pipe of storm weed. Nothing stronger was allowed at the party, in case a child wanted to try it or got their hands on some of the drug by accident. Spayar wasn't a big smoker, but Von was, though it was a calm atmosphere as they passed the pipe around the circle. The weed made Spayar feel light and relaxed and he didn't have to worry about anything really. The food was also good and now and then a servant came by their circle to offer them food which most of them gladly took from.

He blinked when the necromongers they were enjoying their smoke with suddenly bowed where they were sitting. A young boy had come up to the circle, he looked maybe seven or eight and had skin nearly the same shade as Spayar's, his eyes a pale gray color. He had a little girl clinging to his back, her wild hair in a short afro like a black halo barely kept out of her face by a brightly colored headband, she was smiling and missing two teeth in the upper part of her mouth. One of her eyes was a cool red color, almost magenta, though the other was brown. "Paja wanted to see what the smoke was," the boy said. Oh, Paja and Helida's other child... damn what was his name? Spayar knew he knew it but the storm weed made his head fuzzy and he didn't want to brush it away in order to remember a boy's name.

The necromongers looked between each other. Did they offer the High Priestess' children drugs? Would they get in trouble if they did? What if they refused? "Come over here Jarn," Spayar looked at who had spoken and of course it was Von. Well at least he could remember the boy's name because Spayar sure as hell hadn't told him it. "You can try some," he beckoned to the boy who looked at him a moment before going over to him. With a grunt Von suddenly found his lap full of two children. Oh wonderful. "Give me the pipe Ojin," he motioned to one of the necromongers who handed him the pipe. They all seemed relieved someone else had taken responsibility for getting the High Priestesses children high.

Von sucked on the end of the pipe and nodded. "You ever smoke before Jarn?" he asked the boy who was sitting on one of his thighs. Paja sat buffered against the inside of Von's knee on the ground in front of her brother. Jarn shook his head. "Try it," and he offered the end of the long pipe to Jarn.

"How?" Jarn asked.

"Suck in and then breathe in to fill your lungs. Then hold it for a bit. Let it out whenever you want." Jarn looked skeptical, though Spayar had a feeling that was the boy's default expression, before leaning forward and sucking on the pipe. He instantly coughed up a small cloud of smoke like a little wyrmling. The circle erupted into laughter.

"I wanna try, I wanna try," Paja reached for the pipe but Von held it out of her reach.

"I think your mother wouldn't be happy if you tried it," Von said. Of course not, Paja was only three.

"Awww, why?" she whined.

"You're too young yet," Von let her off gently.

"But I wanna try," she huffed and folded her arms.

"Paja," Jarn said, "listen to the man."

"I wanna try," she said again stubbornly.

Von just shook his head, "Can I try again?" Jarn asked.

"Of course," he offered the end of the pipe to Jarn, he took a hit, or tried and gulped down some air when he took his mouth off the pipe and held it nearly until his face turned purple. Then he coughed the little bit of pale smoke he'd been able to hold in back up. Von just chuckled and took a hit himself, a much thicker cloud came out of his mouth when he exhaled.

"I still wanna try it," Paja said defiantly.

Von grinned a little, "You go ask your mommy if you can have some weed. If she says yes, you can," he said. Paja gathered herself up and climbed over Von's legs to get out of his lap and left the circle. Jarn got up a second later and followed after her. "She was sweet," Von said and handed the pipe to a necromonger who tapped the ashes out to just go ahead and refill it.

"Ah, a Rosalia who doesn't scare you then?" Spayar teased.

"Oh I'm sure she will one day," and the circle laughed again at Von being overly dramatic. Von just grinned at Spayar and thankfully was saved from doing something stupid while high when someone said that it was time for the main event; the gifting. Spayar got to his feet and helped haul Von to his feet. His friend was very high and bumped against Spayar, wrapping an arm around Spayar's shoulders in a one armed hugged.

"C'mon pain in the ass," Spayar said and started to drag Von away from the smoking circle.

"That's royal pain in the ass to you," Von giggled. Seemed he'd sobered up a bit to deal with Jarn and Paja but was now happy to act a smoke addled fool. At least Von was usually quietly an idiot when he was high on storm weed and hung on to Spayar as he went to where the gifts were.

The gifts were opened one at a time, Helida helping Paja undo string or peel away wrapping paper. There were dolls, pretty clothes, jewelry, and everything a little girl would like. Von's gift was opened around the middle. He’d ended up buying the comb with the jeweled deer on it made specifically for the wiry hair Paja had. Helida put the pin in Paja's hair almost as soon as she opened it and both Spayar and Von saw it for what it was. It was Helida subtly saying that yes, she would follow Von because unlike his sister Von was good, and no doubt she knew he'd been good with her children.

Once the gifting was over the party was over. Which was good for Spayar. It wasn't dark out yet and Von kept muttering about needing some 'real' food, which no doubt meant some meat. The sun was still up, but this far north during even the end of summer the sun didn’t set till late at night. They had plenty of time to eat and return to the Garden before night fall.

"C'mon," Spayar said, taking Von's arm and joined the group of people heading for the Sea Gate after bidding the High Priestess goodnight. The Sea Gate looked a lot like the Rose Gate except the Sea Gate was covered in carved sea creatures and the carved stone over it was a fat, white, crescent moon, the portcullis like kelp. Von and Spayar walked through the open portcullis without hassle.

"I want food, a fuck, and something strong," Von said as they left the Garden.

"Von, you're high; shut up," Spayar sighed.

"But Spayar," he whined.

"We'll get you some meat, c'mon," and still holding onto Von's arm led him out of the Sea Gate. Cheap hotels, restaurants, and smoking dens had been built up around the Sea Gate to service the necromancers and necromongers who lived in the Garden and wanted to get away for a time.

"I still want something strong,” Von insisted.

"I think you're just fine right now," Spayar sighed.

"I can't drink on a naming day so I might as well get smashed other ways," Von said.

Spayar gave him a look, like mages like Von actually drank, "You're acting ridiculous," and then they got to a restaurant. Von shaped up enough to not act like an idiot for a few moments. "Two," he said and they were led to a table and given menus. "Here," he shoved a menu under Von's nose, "Find some meat and shut up."

"You're so mean to me," Von pouted at him, his lower lip sticking out a lot and Spayar was high enough to want and lean over and kiss it. He didn't though. "I wanted some mallium."

Spayar frowned at him and then sighed, "Okay."

"Yesss," Von smiled brightly then went to study the menu. Spayar wasn't hungry and when a waiter came for their orders only Von ordered. "You're not getting anything?" he asked Spayar.

"No," he shook his head. "Not really hungry."

"Hmmm. Mallium after?"

"If you'll stay here I'll go get it now."

"I will," Von said.

“Promise?”

“Yes,” Von nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay,” and with a grunt Spayar got up and went to find a smoke house that served mallium. The only problem that other than in Peonia it was sometimes difficult to find mallium in the western part of the Alliance. It was a drug grown mostly in the White Foot Hills and around the Wyrd. Of course Von wanted a drug hard to get in this part of the country.

He went into three separate smoke houses on the and wasn't surprised they didn't carry mallium. "If you want mallium there's a house by the docks that sells it," the man at the front desk said when Spayar asked about it.

"Seriously?" Spayar groaned. "Where?"

"Just down by the docks. I think it's called the Smoking Ship."

Spayar pulled on his chin, "Thanks," he said and headed for the docks. It wasn't a short trip either. This was what his life was always like so he didn't know why he was complaining about it now, and he was, under his breath. Von said fetch and Spayar went to do so obediently. He was so used to just... doing things for Von he didn't even think about not doing them or that they were way out of his way. He just did them.

He found the Smoking Ship with only a little difficulty, he just had to ask. Inside the smoke house it smelled of perfumes trying to cover the scent of mildew. He asked the front desk man about mallium. "Yeah, we got some," he said.

"I'd like some."

"Mallium ain't cheap this part of the world kid," the man advised.

"Just give me some," and Spayar held up a gold atrin, "I can pay," the man's brows went up in interest.

"Of course sir, if you'd follow me-

"No no," Spayar shook his head. "I want it to go, I'm not here to smoke."

"Oh. How much would you like?"

"Just one pipe's worth."

"Five silver," Spayar knew he was getting robbed. In Galinsum you could get a pipe's worth of mallium for a silver and a half. But that was in Galinsum, in the east. He put the golden atrin on the counter and was given five silver in return. Then the man left and went to get his mallium. He came back and handed Spayar a pouch. "Thank you for your patronage, sir," he said.

"Yeah yeah," Spayar muttered and left the Smoking Ship and headed back to the restaurant he and Von had been at, grumbling under his breath about unappreciative princes the entire time. When he got there he stopped and groaned.

The table was empty.

"Damnit Von," Spayar cursed and went to the hostess up front. "Did you see where my friend went?"

"He paid and then left," she said.

"Yes but which way?" thankfully she did point him in some direction. At least Von had paid. Spayar left the front of the restaurant and went in that direction but he had no idea where to look. “Densinn’s tongue,” Spayar bitched since Von was lost and Spayar didn't know where to start looking. The only way he could find Von easily would be magic. Thankfully he was a wizard.

Spayar stepped out of the way of foot traffic and uttered the tracking spell he’d devised. After Von had run off from lessons one too many times that week when they were boys and Spayar had been taken out of his own classes to chase the prince down Spayar had just made his life easier and spelled him. It was a passive spell that did nothing but react to a spell Spayar used and created a pointer to show him the direction Von was. For how simple it was it had taken Spayar weeks to craft the weave properly so it would stick to Von without Von noticing since he always did and always broke the weave. He ended up putting it in a hair follicle on the nape of his neck and while sometimes it would itch never enough to draw attention. He'd contemplated putting it on his ass just to be spiteful, but had held himself above and back from such childishness.

The spell worked perfectly and a little glowing arrow appeared on the top of his hand, pointing the direction he had to go. He checked the arrow at each intersection to stay on the right path and Spayar was surprised how far Von had gone. He knew the prince wasn't in his right mind right now but that was barely an excuse. Storm weed was a mild drug and you could always overcome it with enough will.

He found Von down a side street, some sweet thing had his back against the wall looking like she was going to give him a good time. Spayar saw the way her hand was going towards his purse though and he stepped into the side street. "Go find someone else to rob," he said, the girl looking at him, startled. Her fingers edged towards Von's purse and he was happily oblivious. Spayar drew his knife, "Don't make me say it again. Hand touches that purse and you won't have that hand," he said gruffly. The girl looked at him, looked at Von, back and him, sneered and backed off, walking away.

"You are an absolute pain in my ass," Spayar growled, grabbing Von by the collar.

"What?" Von asked.

"You were about to be robbed idiot," and he started to drag Von back to the Garden.

"I was?" he sounded a bit more with it now.

"Yes," Spayar said and Von tugged his neck out of strangling range to walk on his own. "We're going back to the Garden."

"I let it get away from me. I’m sorry Spayar," Von said and then he paused, "Did you get my mallium?"

Spayar sighed, "Yes."

"Excellent. Knew I could count on you," Von said.

"You're so lucky you're my friend," Spayar muttered.

"Oh I know," Von said. He smiled at Spayar, "I am thankful every day of my life I have someone like you as a friend Spayar." Damn Von for making it impossible to stay angry at him. Damn him to the Shadowed Lands.

—

Von fell back onto his bed. The mallium had been smoked between the two of them, the ashes tapped out of the pipe and down the bathtub drain. Spayar was sitting on the bed as Von laid his head on the pillow, laying down on top of the blankets. Von was high as hell on mallium now and mallium was a drug when you just wanted to feel everything more. Right now Von was feeling tired and Spayar was feeling frustrated.

"Goodnight Spayar," Von sighed contently.

"The shit I put up with because of you," Spayar grumbled.

"I know," Von said dreamily, "but you loooove it," and he yawned thickly.

Spayar looked over at Von. The younger man was asleep now, Spayar could tell by the deep, even, rise and fall of his chest. He'd fallen asleep mostly dressed, his boots and over shirt off and lay in his soft undershirt and pants. "Damnit Quen," he cursed the goddess of desire because some of Von's shirt had rode up along his stomach. Spayar could see his tan line between the deeply tanned, nearly golden, skin, and the pale shade of skin like snow that started at his pant line. "Why must you do this to me?" he looked up at the ceiling miserably.

It'd be so easy to just do something. It was so tempting. So damn tempting. Spayar prided himself in having the willpower to not need the things other men needed. Most men wanted women, Spayar was not like most men though. He did not desire women, he desired men. But men like him weren't too common. Most went back and forth between men and women, it seemed there were few who were like Spayar, who only preferred men. Damn Can'dhe for putting his fate in line with Von's. He had to have a strong will to be Von's friend and not just go crazy because yes, he did want his prince.

Half the time he felt his constitution fray at the edges being with Von. It had been easier when they were boys, or when Von had just been a boy. But they weren’t boys anymore and Von didn’t realize it. He didn’t want Von to know either. The prince would just make it weird, and probably wouldn’t treat him the same. Spayar didn’t want to ruin their friendship with his desires since he knew Von wasn’t like him and Spayar knew himself too well. He was far too jealous of a person to _share_ when Von eventually married his queen, as all Asuras had to do, even the gay ones. It was better he was left to simply just pine. Otherwise Spayar would just turn them into ruin with his jealousy every time Von looked at anyone else. He’d done it before with other men, he didn’t want to even have the opportunity to do it with Von.

It was still so hard to just, turn away, during times like this. When they were both high and might not even remember in the morning. He was usually so strong and just left to take himself away from the temptation. This time Spayar was not as strong as he normally was. He just wanted one touch. Just one. He leaned over to Von and ran his hand against the exposed skin of Von’s stomach. His skin was smooth and warm under Spayar's strong fingers and very slowly he pushed his hand up his prince's flank, making his undershirt ride up. Spayar knew he shouldn’t do this, that this was so so close to breaking the law on consent but he was weak. He was so weak he was disgusted in himself.

Von shifted in his sleep and Spayar pulled back instantly. That was enough he told himself shaking his head to dispel the cobwebs of the mallium. He looked at Von. The prince had moved to find a more comfortable position on the bed. He’d put his hand down on his stomach under his shirt where Spayar had put his hand, already used to the warmth, and that just pushed his shirt up more.

What a horrible man. And Von didn’t even know he was doing it! 

Spayar frowned angrily and knew he couldn't stay here another moment. Not with this in his face or knowing it was across the hall. The temptation was too strong and Spayar could feel Quen hovering over his shoulder, whispering in his ear to give in. He'd do something stupid if he stayed here and he knew it. He wasn't sober enough after that mallium to behave. Part of him hated himself for that, the sober, rational part of him. The other part was on Quen’s side. Wake him up, kiss him, tell Von how he felt, and touch him all over.

As usual the rational side of Spayar won out and he got up from the bed. He saw himself from the room, locking it behind him so he couldn’t even be tempted a second time. He thought about just going to sleep, but he felt too tight and sharp. He ended up ducking into his room to grab his coin purse before he left the Temple, left the Garden, went through the Sea Gate and into Nedrag. He found a brothel among the hotels and drug dens around the Sea Gate and went in. He could find someone to worship Quen with him here surely.


	7. Fangs

Tassa was sitting in the room her cousin had provided her on the second floor of his home in the Glass Comb district of Peonia. It was a nice house, well made with large windows everywhere to circulate the air during the hot summers and cool winters. From the window in the guest room she could see the Peony Keep, a succulent building in the northern part of the city. There the Mue-Peony and Nann-Peony lived. Her mother had lived there, before she’d been sent to the tables when she was a little girl. She’d couldn’t remember her mother. Her father had lived there too, before she’d been born and he’d run away to Assarus. 

She’d never been in the Keep.

She didn’t want to. 

She couldn’t imagine what a Hau like her would be treated like in that place. At least she wasn’t a Hannu, but it was a thin silver lining. It was only because she was a Hau that her cousin would even _think_ of trying to get her to marry his son. If she’d been an Ito like her father, or a Nann like her mother she wouldn’t have to suffer this horribly boring man or his horribly boring son, his wife was a nice woman though.

Tassa retreated to the guest room often to get away from them. At least when she was home and not about in Peonia, flirting with foreigners, picking pockets, or smoking. It had rained this morning and Tassa had stayed in, she hated the wet. Made living in Assarus a nightmare since it rained all through fall and sometimes into the winter. She could never get her hair to behave during the fall, and the rain could make her winged eyeliner run. Now she was sort of stuck in this place until later when it was more proper to go out and party.

There was a knock on the door, “Tassy,” her cousin called and she rolled her eyes with a grimace. Her cousin presumed familiarity where there was none. At least he didn’t call her by her real name. He wasn’t nearly so brash.

“Yes?” she called back sweetly.

He opened the door a bit and peered inside, “One of those men who came by a few days ago is back,” he said.

Tassa’s heart jumped into her throat and she hopped to her feet, “They are?” and her first thought was Spayar.

“Yes!” her cousin yelped as he jumped out of the way as Tassa went quickly through the door, nearly shoving him aside. She nearly raced down the stairs in excitement only for it all to just burst like a bubble when she just found Vondugard waiting in the foyer wearing his riding gear.

“Oh, Vondugard,” she said and didn’t hide her disappointment.

“Tassa,” Vondugard smiled at her a little, hopeful, but his smile faltered when she didn’t look happy to see him.

“Where’s Spayar?” she practically dismissed his existence. 

“Not here. He’s on his way to Galinsum,” well so much for going home and waiting till he got home. Spayar would be gone for another month at least, going to Galinsum and then back to Asuras unless he took a wyrm,

“What is it then?”

“Would you like to accompany me to Alderin?” he asked her.

“Why?”

Von’s blue eyes flicked over her shoulder and she knew he was looking at her cousin standing behind her, watching curiously. “Business,” Vondugard said, “it’d get you out of here,” he added when Tassa’s answer wasn’t forthcoming,

She smiled a sly smile, “I would be _honored_ to accompany you to Alderin, your highness,” and she performed a cute little Aldashi curtsy that just seemed to amuse the prince. “If you’ll allow me to get myself in order.”

“Of course,” Vondugard said, “When you’re ready meet me at the Holly Wreath hotel, I assume you know where it is?”

“I do,” she said.

“I’ll see you there,” and he nodded at her before leaving. Tassa refrained from giving a little girlish jump of glee. Instead she took the stairs back up to the guest room nearly three at a time and closed herself in. She changed her clothes, pulling on clothes for riding, steel blue cotton breeches and a fitted bodice made of linen the color of the spring sky with a print of tiny golden birds in flight. She tore her hair out of the Aldashi bun and jeweled headband she kept it in and it flowed down to the middle of her back like a tangle of jungle vines. Tassa threw open the drawers of her dresser and packed her bags with exactly the same amount of stuff she’d arrived with.

As she was packing her cousin poked his head into the room, “Tassy,” he said.

“Yes what is it?” she asked buckling her bag up and going over to the vanity.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes. So sorry for the short notice, cousin,” she said, trying to at least sort of hide her glee and checked her makeup, touching up her lip paint and eyeliner. “But I really couldn’t have said no,” she said standing and pulling her long black hair back to tie it with a pretty pale blue ribbon that matched her eyes.

“Really? Who was that man?” her cousin squinted at her suspiciously.

“That was crown prince Vondugard, perhaps you’ve heard of him?” she asked and pleated her hair into a messy braid before piling it into a crown she pinned in place with a handful of pins and snaps, all while looking in the mirror of a vanity. Her cousin was reflected in the surface and his olive skin was ashy from her words. “Now I mustn’t dawdle, you know the Le’Acard don’t like to wait,” and she jumped into her thigh high riding boots and zipped them up along the back. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “It was a joy visiting cousin,” she told him, “and I wish I could stay longer. But when you’re in with the in crowd, you have to go where they say,” and her cousin didn’t even look upset, he just looked impressed that Tassa knew a member of royalty. In Assarus saying that would have been an insult, it was different in Peonia.

“Of course, Tassy,” he said and followed her downstairs.

“I’ll visit again sometime,” no she wouldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “ _Edraí_ ,” and she kissed him on both cheeks and walked out of his nice house and down the street to the neighborhood stables. She took the keys to her horse’s stall out of her pocket and opened it.

Her mare Lemon was _delighted_ to see her and nearly bowled her over in her excitement. Tassa giggled and hugged Lemon’s face, “I missed you too, girl,” she cooed. Lemon had been in this stable for weeks, since Peonia was better seen on foot than horseback and most of the roads didn’t allow carriages, much less horses, down them. “Ready to go?” she asked stroking Lemon’s pretty face. Lemon had been a gift from her uncle when she’d gone to serve her time two and a half years ago and was Aldashi stock with silky, custard colored coat and corn silk mane and tail with white socks and blaze down the front of her muzzle. Tassa didn’t love a lot of things, but Lemon was at the top of that list. Unlike men Lemon never let her down. Lemon snorted happily, bobbing her head up and down and Tassa smiled and left the stall to the lockers down the aisle. From there she took Lemon’s tack and quickly saddled her.

Lemon practically pranced when they were finally out of the stable and Tassa was on her back. She reached down and patted Lemon’s neck, “Once we get out of the city we’ll go for a nice run,” she promised the mare who whinnied happily, her tail swishing as Tassa prodded her forward.

It didn’t take them too long to get from Glass Comb to Golden Peony where the Holly Wreath hotel was. Tassa dismounted in front of the gaudy facade of the gaudy tourist trap of a building with its fake flowers and pumped in smell of caramel. She tied Lemon up out front under the watch of the doorman and went inside. It took one scan around the lobby to find Vondugard, lounging on a couch with some girl hanging off his arm. Tassa was so disenchanted by Peonia at this point, always had been, but Vondugard found it wonderful and she knew it.

She went over to them and the prostitute looked up at her, then her eyes widened at seeing Tassa. Tassa gave her a subtle sneer most people wouldn’t notice. The Holly Wreath wasn’t as tacky as the last place Vondugard and Spayar had stayed at, but it was still a horrible tourist trap. The prostitute wore a wig and her makeup was thick though Tassa could see the mole she was trying to hide and the smudge of her eyeliner from her last customer. Maybe she was overly critical of the prostitutes of the Golden Peony district. It was just the ones in the Silver Jasmine neighborhood were _so_ much better. Maybe it said something that the actual pretty native Peonians didn’t want to serve the foreigners in the Golden Peony so it left the prostitutes to be second best. The other whores in the Golden Peony put all the other districts to shame though, because it was one thing to be a prostitute in the Golden Peony, it was another thing entirely to be a whore.

“Vondugard,” she said silkily, “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“A— oh, Tassa, no it was fine,” Vondugard said, also staring up at her, though his look was in awe. She never did get tired of boys who found her incredible. It was so cute, especially on someone like a crown prince.

“Shall we get going? It is a long trip after all,” and he was staring right at her mouth. So predictable. Not even Diylan gawked at her this badly and Diylan would flirt with anything with a pulse. But little boys were so fun when they stared, like they’d never seen a woman before in their lives.

“Yes, you’re right,” and Vondugard got up from the couch. “Pleasure meeting you,” he told the prostitute who just smiled pretty.

Once they were out of Peonia and heading east along the Westerlance Tassa kicked Lemon’s side and the horse took off like an arrow. She heard Von yell after her but she’d promised Lemon they’d run once they were out of the city. Instead she just looked over her shoulder and saw Vondugard on his roan thundering after them. She grinned and faced the wind and let Lemon run until she was tired.

“What was that about?” Vondugard asked once Lemon had slowed to a walk, sweat standing through her coat but she hadn’t exhausted herself.

Tassa reached forward to ruffle Lemon’s mane, “Lemon’s been cooped up a stable for weeks. I promised her a run once we were out of the city.”

“Oh,” Vondugard said.

“Now, what ‘business’ is this in Alderin you needed me for?” and she sat back to make sure her hair was still in place where she’d pinned it.

“I’m going to meet X’vazior Kull, the lord of Alderin.”

“For what?” she tucked a few strands of loose hair back into place, repining her hair properly.

“For the Conflict,” if Tassa had been walking she would have stopped with a start. Instead she just turned and looked at Vondugard. “My siblings are gathering allies, I can’t just stand by while they do.”

“Who is X’vazior?” she asked.

“A praetor from the Second Arm,” Vondugard said, “He’s acting Second Praetor,” and that piqued Tassa’s interest. She’d served her time in the Fifth Arm in the navy but the Fifth and Second Arms worked closely together since the Second protected the gut and the Fifth protected the sea but the Fifth was much more exciting what with chasing pirates and all that.

“And you think I’d be of use?”

“Yes, also I’m not one to see a pretty girl so miserable as you were at your cousin’s,” and Tassa was taken aback a moment before laughing.

“And where’s Spayar? Shouldn’t he be with you?”

“I need him elsewhere,” Von said simply.

“Shame,” she said, “I would have liked his company,” Von’s mouth went thin. “But thank you for giving me an excuse to get away from my cousin,” she added.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“And once we’ve met X’vazior I assume you’ll be returning to Assarus?”

“Yes, Spayar should be back by then. I’ll need to speak with him,” meaning Spayar _was_ going to Galinsum on a wyrm.

“Wonderful!” she said brightly, “Lemon’s missed Spayar’s girl while he was gone, haven’t you Lemon?” she patted Lemon’s neck.

“Yes, I’m sure she has,” Vondugard chuckled.

They traveled for several days along the Westerlance, stopping at an inn each nice. Vondugard always paid for their food and board and Tassa was more than happy to live on his atrin. They crossed the Sway river along the way but met up with it again when they arrived at Alderin.

Alderin straddled the intersection of the Westerlance and Sway Road on all three sides. It wasn’t a very big city, but it was a fairly important stop on the trade route going both ways across the Alliance. Here the road was at its widest and more like a city square than just a road and even at a distance you could see the intersection as each way in was covered by a vaulted arch with iconography of the Kou provence. The city itself was off the road and formed a sort of triangle around the intersection with small roads branching off from the inter provence roads. Alderin was a strange city as it was the only one in the entire Alliance that occupied three provinces: Aldash, Insin, and Kou. Though Alderin was a Kouish city, something the Governor of Aldash and Insin were always annoyed about since they couldn’t tax Alderin and as a major trade hub there was potentially a lot of money to make in taxing the city.

Instead they just taxed their towns close to Alderin since not everyone who worked in Alderin wanted to be a citizen of Kou. It was easy to tell which provence you belonged around Alderin at least. If you were on the south side of the Westerlance you were Isini, if you were west of Sway road you were Aldashi and if you were east of Sway road you were Kouish.

When they finally made it to the intersection it was nearly noon. The lord’s house was as close to the road as possible, nearly against the road itself, only separated by a wall and a small yard, on the Kou side of the city. Tassa and Vondugard rode up to the house and got off their horses. Tassa held the reins of Vondugard’s horse while he knocked. After a brief exchange with the footman they were let in and Tassa handed the reins over to a stable hand who led the horses away into a strange narrow stable that was between the house and the wall that separated it from the road.

The footman showed them inside. Aldash was literally less than a hundred feet outside of the front door but there wasn’t an Aldashi touch anywhere, it was all Kouish with thick wooden rafters and very rigid panels making up the walls. The large, open, windows were common in the northern provinces where it was warm all year round, but there were no curtains. Instead there were grates that were pulled from the front like shutters. The floor was covered in a thick, warm, carpet and the house itself was very dark on the inside.

They were led to an office and announced after a knock, “Apologies for the interruption sir-“ the footman stopped talking when X’vazior held up his hand for quiet, not looking up from his work where he was writing a long line of notes and information. X’vazior waved the footman away and the servant left even as X’vazior beckoned Vondugard and Tassa inside. Like the rest of the house the office was dark though was lit by bright alchemic lamps and bay windows were open to let in a breeze.

Tassa looked at Vondugard and the prince shrugged before taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of X’vazior’s desk. Tassa took the chair next to him and they waited until X’vazior was finished with his work. Then X’vazior finished whatever he was doing and looked up. He was an older man in his early thirties with probably the most amazing mustache Tassa had ever seen and she felt the childish desire to reach out and touch it. He had deep lines at the corners of his mouth though he didn’t seem particular about frowning.

“Praetor X’vazior,” Vondugard started, “thank you for seeing us.”

“And exactly who are you?” X’vazior asked, leaning forward on his desk a bit, folding his hands in front of him.

“I’m Vondugard Le’Acard, this is my friend Sergeant Tassa Hau-Peony,” and he motioned to Tassa.

“Ah, a Sergeant,” X’vazior looked at Tassa, “what Arm did you serve in?”

“The Sixth, sir, but I fought with the Fifth.”

“Fabulous,” X’vazior said and a small smile was tucked up in the corner of his mouth. Then he put his attention back on Vondugard. “What can I do for you your highness?” he asked politely.

Vondugard said nothing for a moment and Tassa could see him deciding something. He got the same look Spayar did when he was making a decision on how to treat people. “I want your help,” Vondugard said.

“My help? What could a prince possibly need the help of a praetor for?”

“I think you know,” Vondugard said. “And if you don’t I’m prepared to spell it out for you.”

X’vazior leaned back into his chair and put his hands on his stomach looking at the both of them. “Suppose I do know,” he said, “why should I?”

“Because you hate my mother more than you like being coy,” and X’vazior’s lips twitched in amusement.  “And I’m on your side. There’s no way you could have made it through the Mesa Plains without a serious backing of resources my mother didn’t want to provide. She wants to be a great conqueror like Daedin, but refuses to reach for it, so she sends an Arm to get it for her instead.”

“A statement even a child could understand,” X’vazior said. “I have better things to do than to meddle in the affairs of the Le’Acard and their damn Conflicts. My city comes first, and then my Arm, I don’t have time or patience for the petty fighting of siblings.”

“For nothing?” Vondugard asked.

“No,” X’vazior said.

“Not even food?” Tassa asked and X’vazior’s dark eyes tracked over to her. “I heard the Kouish crops have been poor this year and Clan bandits have been raiding mills and storehouses because there aren’t enough animals in the Yellow Hills to hunt.”

“What the Governor will do about the Clan is not my business, Sergeant,” X’vazior said in a level tone. “I just worry about Alderin.”

“But surely bad crops effect all of Kou. And we both know Aldash, Nedalia and Insin will be happy to sell some of their extra food, but I wonder what the mark up will be like on that?” She shrugged a little, “Especially when they already tax goods going into Alderin so high as it is,” and she watched his cheek jump.

“And you’d know that _Hau_?” he asked.

She smiled sharply, “A Hau from a Nann, I know all about it,” she said sweetly. “I just want what’s best for everyone though, it makes my left so much more inconvenient when people have to worry about buying food and can’t spend it on things they want.”

X’vazior looked at Tassa and then back to Vondugard, “What game are you playing you highness?”

“One I plan to win,” Vondugard said. “I just came back from a visit with the High Priestess. She seemed receptive of my ideas,” he smiled a little. “If I’m telling you about one of the cards in my hand, what do you think the rest of them look like?” X’vazior eyes narrowed slightly. “Have my siblings come to you?”

“If they did why would I tell you?”

“Because whatever they offered you I can offer you more.”

“You think so?” X’vazior scoffed.

“I offer you Archon,” and X’vazior’s eyes went wide.

“Archon,” X’vazior said, leaning forward. “On some praetor you don’t know you can trust?”

Vondugard smirked, “I do know I can trust you,” he said. “If you can tell my mother to get out you would have told me to as well by now. But you haven’t. If my siblings have offered you something its probably like… First Praetor, or lord of a city that doesn’t make you need to dye your hair,” and X’vazior wasn’t the only one who looked at Vondugard sharply. How did he know X’vazior dyed his hair? “Some meaningless thing you said ‘I’ll think about it’ to, because they aren’t such fools that they’d let such a dissenter exist in the Alliance and not approach. 

“I don’t really have time to play games X’vazior. I want you on my side, you’ve led the Second Arm for years in the stead of First Praetor Zeth who we both know lives in his estate in Talderin and has gotten fat and spoiled from drinking wine all day and banging his third wife,” X’vazior’s mouth twisted into something that could have been amusement. “And you also are the lord of Alderin, a thankless job I’m sure. You’re loyal to your men and your people if nothing else. I would be foolish to _not_ want you as my Archon. And if you’re worried about your people having food come the winter I’ll help provide. Sounds like a good deal, doesn’t it?”

X’vazior said nothing for several moments, “I will think on it,” he said and Tassa saw Vondugard nearly get up and storm out of the room in anger. It had been a good play. Had she been in X’vazior’s position she would have taken such a deal gladly. There were no non noble positions higher than Archon, in fact the Archon was above all of them except Governor. “In the mean time you’re welcome to stay the night if you want, just tell Nathon you are.”

“Thank you for your generosity, X’vazior,” and Vondugard stood abruptly, Tassa stood hastily as well. Vondugard turned on his heel and left.

“Sergeant,” X’vazior said before Tassa could follow completely.

“Yes, sir?” she said, looking over her shoulder.

“Why are you with the prince?”

A myriad of things could have come out of her mouth, all of them horrible and true. She and Vondugard weren’t the best of friends, more like friends by association of being friends with Spayar. If it had just been Vondugard she would have told X’vazior exactly why she was here, that she was just going home from visiting her cousin and Vondugard had dragged her into this. But like why she’d spoken earlier about Kou’s food situation it wasn’t just about Vondugard, it was about Spayar. She knew the stakes when this Conflict finally exploded. She knew what could happen to Spayar and she didn’t want that. It wasn’t the answer X’vazior wanted either.

“Because he’s going to win,” she said. “And I know Vondugard, if you aren’t with him, you’re against him, and if you’re against its not just him you have to worry about,” X’vazior cocked his head to the side. “You probably would have found out in a few months when goes to serve his time, but Vondugard has a _d’aelar_. And I can tell you one thing; if Vondugard doesn’t ruin you for being against him, his _d'aelar_ sure will, and you wouldn’t get away with just a slap on the wrist from either of them for your insubordination like you did this year to Virilia.”

“I see, thank you Sergeant. Enjoy your stay in Alderin.”

“Praetor,” and she saluted him before leaving his office. She swallowed and took a few deep breaths when she left. Vondugard was waiting for her down the hall.

“What was that about?” he asked her.

“I hopefully just helped you,” she said.

“Hopefully?” she just shrugged a little and Vondugard frowned, “Hopefully then. Lets go find this Nathon.”

Nathon turned out to be the footman from earlier who was surprised when Vondugard told him X’vazior said they could stay the night. Vondugard didn’t seem to notice though, he was still sulking about being denied. What a giant baby. “Is it rare for X’vazior to have guests?” Tassa asked the footman as they were guided to some guest rooms.

“Yes,” Nathon said and then unthinkingly said, “when the other royal family members visited they were asked to leave promptly,” and Tassa elbowed Von a bit to get him to pay attention and stop acting like a dejected cat.

“They were? Do you know why?”

“My lord said for insulting him- and here we are,” they were standing in a hallway next to two rooms. “These two are for you. I’ll have Jemsien bring your bags,” and he motioned to the two rooms.

“Thank you,” Vondugard said.

“If you need anything just ask someone, they will provide,” Nathon said and after telling him they would be left. 

Tassa opened the door of her room but hung off the doorframe, “I expect you’ll hear the news you want to hear tomorrow at breakfast,” she said.

“You sound sure,” Vondugard said seriously.

“I am sure,” Tassa said, “its too good a deal to pass up.”

“You’re like the least noble noble I know Tassa,” Vondugard said lamely, “Your stance of ethics is… suspect.”

She grinned, “That’s a compliment coming from a Le’Acard,” she smirked, “your family is more unscrupulous than even mine,” and his face turned dark and hard, his blue eyes turning into steel. “But right now a shameless Asuras is exactly what we need,” she reached out and gently held his chin, his head lifted a bit, as if out of her touch but not quite. Even when he was annoyed with her he was too enthralled in her appearance to push her away. “You Le’Acard will use any tactic no matter how underhanded or unsavory. You’re all bad, but I think you’re the worst,” Vondugard’s entire demeanor seemed shadowed now, hard and angry but she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid of men, they were fools. “And the worst win. I know that. X’vazior knows that. I’m sure none of your stupid siblings had the guts to tell him he’s fucked if he isn’t with them.”

“I didn’t say that,” Vondugard said.

She grinned, “No, you didn’t. I did for you.”

“Tassa-

“Spayar isn’t here,” she spoke over him, “and you’re bad at making people fear you like they should. He just needed a nudge.”

“What did you tell him?”

“What he needed to hear. That you have the bite to back up your bark. If you’re going to do this, you need fangs. Start growing some,” and she let him go, “I’ll see you at dinner,” and she went into her room with the intention of taking a long back. She was sure Vondugard would have a lot to think about. 


	8. The Alchemist

It was with a flurry of leathery wings that Spayar arrived in Galinsum. Spayar hated flying but after the first half bell he’d stopped clinging to the flighter’s jacket in a death grip. He’d left that morning from Assarus after spending a night at home and now it was nearly dark when they finally landed.

“Silver Leaf Station, Galinsum,” the flighter in front of him said and unbuckled Spayar’s legs from the saddled Wyrm.

“Oh good,” Spayar breathed but felt completely drained. He could barely feel his legs from the flight. The flighter didn’t seem to mind and got up and offered Spayar a hand. He took it and was hauled right to his feet to stand atop the wyrm’s broad, grey, back.

“Feeling all right Mr. Hillsman?” the flighter asked.

“Yeah, fine, just not a fan of flying,” he said.

“Alright, we need to move, there’s a wyrm coming in for a landing in a few minutes,” and Spayar was helped down from the beast. The wyrm they’d been riding snorted at them, their brilliantly colored wings half folded against their side. The thing was literally as big as a house at the shoulder, and that didn’t include the long neck or the head that was nearly as big as Spayar was. “I’ll wait for you at this station until you’re ready to leave,” the flighter said once they were on the solid ground.

“Right… thanks,” Spayar was still a bit frazzled from the flight. “It’ll be some time tomorrow, I know wyrms don’t fly at night,” he said and the flighter nodded as his eyes went pure black to let his wyrm open a portal  rimmed in purple fire and slip through. Spayar removed the goggles he’d been given to protect his eyes from the wind and handed them to the flighter, since he’d rented them for the flight and the flighter handed him his bag he’d completely forgotten about in his mild daze. He _really_ hated flying, it didn’t make him sick like it did some people, it just made him feel exhausted and disorientated like he was on a bad trip.

They parted, the flighter going to find some other flighters to hang out with and Spayar left the station. Spayar had never wanted to see Galinsum again after he left four weeks ago. The city sat behind tall walls you could see anywhere in the city and tall, spindly, towers rose within them connected by spider-made bridges. The city sat at the base of the Spine, the mountains that bordered the eastern part of the Alliance and this far south summer had already lost its grip on the world and even though it was only early Asurala it already felt like Neyjarra, the air crisp and cold and he could almost see his breath. 

For a city that didn't do much it was incredibly wealthy because the alchemic devices they exported were expensive and the the materials they needed to make them were fairly cheap. He knew Von loved the new alchemic lights they'd created, you flipped a switch and they turned on and stayed lit until you turned them off. His mother however did not and in general didn't like alchemists. There were few, if any, alchemic devices in the Summer or Winter palaces. Before they'd parted ways on the road Von had talked about how when he was Asuras he wanted to install alchemic devices all around the palaces.

Though he couldn’t see it Spayar knew there was a long line at Galinsum’s gate to enter the city even at this time of day. Each wagon was checked as they left and entered the city to ensure that nothing was stolen. Bribes weren't accepted in Galinsum and if you were caught taking them you could suffer a shock, quite literally, via a diabolical machine his teachers said was called an 'electric chair'. Spayar had to go through a similar inspection when he left the station, and had to submit his bag to some guards who looked through it and then gave him a quick pat down to make sure she wasn’t smuggling any foreign contraband. It took less than a minute and then he walked out the front doors and into the city.

Galinsum was a city that smelled like metal and burning coal, none of which was very pleasant. He found the first, cheapest, hotel he could and spent the night, knowing he had important things to do in the morning. All night the air smelled of putrid coal smoke and Spayar hated that he’d become so used to the smell while he’d lived here.

In the morning he had a light breakfast and left his hotel heading for a rather short and squat tower in the center of the city. Most of the buildings in Galinsum were huge things that seemed to sway in the wind, held up by strong metal supports and magic, but the one he wanted was small and dwarfed by most of the buildings in the city. It was the council building for the entire city and the tiny provence the alchemists had carved out for themselves and included Galinsum and three other, smaller, cities in the mountains no one cared to claim anyway. Unlike other provinces there was no noble family that ruled it and thus no governor. Instead it was run by a democratic council that while served for life but could be kicked out if enough people threw a fit about it. The council was a seventy five members strong and comprised of master alchemists, bankers, master artisans,  and basically anyone important. At the head of the council was the High Alchemist, a man who claimed to have brought alchemy to the Alliance in eighteen hundreds from a continent beyond Priman'osta.

Spayar entered the short council building, and side stepped as some running messengers in their blue uniforms raced past him and up the stairs. Spayar frowned after them but didn't go where they were going. He was looking for a ground floor office.

After passing it maybe half a dozen times Spayar found the office of Milo Theo, a master alchemist. Spayar knew him from when he'd studied here just a few weeks ago, he was the best way to get to the High Alchemist. Milo's cute secretary, Cole, let Spayar in and he winked at them, Cole blushed almost instantly. Cole had been fun. He showed Spayar into Milo's office proper without making eye contact. Oh he loved straight boys.

Milo looked like a typical alchemist on the council; short, squat, with a pale, moon round, face, a bit of a gut and a shock of dark hair. He looked like he hadn't been outside in a long time and had few fine lines on his face except for his forehead which was deeply creased. A pince nez was perched on the end of his nose as he he sat hunched over something called a 'typewriter' that you couldn't get anywhere else but Galinsum and were ridiculously expensive. 

"Milo," Spayar said loudly to announce himself and closed the door. Milo must have jumped three feet in his chair, startled by Spayar's sudden arrival his head whipping around so fast his pince nez went flying off his face. Spayar raised his hand a bit in half amusement the metal frames coming to a stand still in the air thanks to his mettallurgy. That was about the edge of his magus abilities though.

"Hillsman," Milo cried angrily when he saw Spayar and jumped to his feet. Milo always surprised Spayar with how fast he could move for such a fat, older man. "What in Anceion's dick are you doing here?" he asked. Milo was also incredibly foul mouthed, he was too powerful and too important for the council to throw a hissy fit over it though. "I thought that princeling whelp called you back to the capital," Milo was literally the only person Spayar allowed to bad mouth Von in his presence. He knew Milo didn't mean it, he honestly doubted the man even noticed he did it anymore.

"I need to talk to the High Alchemist," Spayar said and handed Milo his pince nez back. The man blinked his watery eyes at him, cleaned them on his shirt and then put them on, they did nothing to help his looks, making his eyes look tiny in comparison to the rest of his head.

"Jenjin?" Milo asked, "The hell you need to see that old bastard for?" Milo was also the only person Spayar knew who called Jenjin Albera an 'old bastard' both behind his back and to his face and got away with it.

Spayar pulled out a message, "A message from his highness," Spayar said, all serious now, all traces of former amusement gone.

Milo schooled his face, "And what does his royal pain in the ass want?" that might have been Spayar's fault. He called Von a royal pain in the ass when talking about all the stuff Von did that annoyed or pissed him off and since Milo had acted sort of as a mentor to Spayar when he’d first arrived he’d heard _all_ the complaints Spayar had about Von,

"Grenades," Spayar said.

"You mean grenados," Milo said.

"No," Spayar said, " _grenades_. He wants bigger ones, more lethal ones that can kill a man. He says your grenados are good but he doesn't have time for highwaymen tricks. He wants lethal weapons."

Milo looked very serious now, "Does he now?"

"Yes. Which is why I need to see the High Alchemist. Now."

"Well he's not in the building at the moment," Milo said. "He's busy overseeing the production of some flying fire."

"When will he be back?"

"Few bells perhaps. When he does the council is meeting about the name."

"The name?"

"Of flying fire. Some people think it's stupid."

"It is stupid," Spayar said, "What do they want to call it instead?"

"Fireworks."

"Huh, that doesn't suck nearly as much," Spayar agreed. "How long should that take?"

"Who knows. Who can get any of those bags of wind on the council to agree on anything?" Milo huffed. That was the one thing about Galinsum; laws and changes moved very slowly because of such a large deciding force. In a normal city a lord could decide what was best, bring it to their advisors and decide on it in a day or so. In Galinsum it could take days or weeks if it was important enough. So it was no wonder why Spayar groaned. Gods damn the Galinsum council.

"Can you try to get me to see the High Alchemist before the council meeting?" Spayar nearly begged.

"Hmmm."

"Please Milo. I'll do just about anything. Anything you want, I can do," Spayar said. Bribes were illegal in Galinsum but that didn't mean you couldn't accept favors from people. It was the worst kept secret in Galinsum that some members of the council were horribly corrupt and would take bribes in the form of favors. But so long a Galinsum remained prosperous and maintained a monopoly on certain things the council members were allowed to do it without punishment.

Milo wasn't one of those corrupt council members though. He genuinely loved Galinsum and the people in it and wouldn't see her brought low. He knew Milo wouldn't take a real bribe. No amount of atrins would sway him. But favors... favors was another thing. "Anything?" Milo asked.

"Yes. I just need to see the High Alchemist before the council meeting that'll drag on who knows how long," because if he finished here quickly he could return to Assarus and have more time with his family before Von got there.

Milo thought, rubbed his chin, and then looked at his office door, "Cole's been all out of sorts lately," he said.

"Does he need a healer?"

"No," and Milo gave Spayar a very straight forward look, "He's been all out of sorts since the last time I saw you," yeah and Spayar had banged Cole on his own desk after Milo had gone home for the day two days before he'd gone home for Assarus. "Any idea why that might be?"

"I have a few ideas, yeah," Spayar shrugged, damn straight boys who didn't know what they really liked were the bane of Spayar's existence.

"Well it's been pissing me off the past month you've been gone. I get you this meeting, you do something about it." Spayar rose his brows at Milo. He was pretty sure Milo had basically just ordered him to have sex with his secretary. Or at the very least woo him. Spayar could do that. Spayar would gladly do that.

"You got it," Spayar nodded eagerly.

"Okay. I'll get Jenjin when he comes back and see if I can get him to see you."

"Thank you," said sincerely. Can'dhe was on his side today for once; bitch never was usually it seemed.

"Now, I need to finish this," he pointed at his typewriter, "before Jenjin gets back, so fuck off until then. I'll have Cole get you . Tell him where you're staying."

"I will. Thank you again Milo," Spayar said and then saw himself out. Cole was working at his desk, transcribing something or another by hand as he wasn't important enough to warrant a typewriter. Cole was in his mid twenties and average looking  in every sense of the word; average height, not dark or light brown hair, fair skin. He was slightly more handsome than average though with a full mouth and some of the prettiest blue eyes Spayar had ever seen. Spayar had a real thing for blue eyes.

Spayar went over to Cole who looked up at him and swallowed when Spayar grinned. "Milo is setting me up with a meeting. I'll be staying at the Castor by Silver Leaf Station for when its ready,” he said and Cole looked away to write that down. "How you been?" he asked since Cole and he had seen each other a lot when Spayar had lived here. Spayar was nearly Milo’s protege and Cole was his secretary, the two of them used to go for a smoke after Cole was done of work sometimes. Almost friends in a way. 

"A-alright," Cole stammered a bit, unable to meet Spayar’s eyes still.

"Really?" Cole met his eyes for the first time since he'd seen him and he instantly looked away, face going flushed. This would be pretty easy. Cole was ‘straight’, but Spayar had all sorts of experience with ‘straight’ guys, it was nearly his specialty to woo straight guys. He liked showing them that maybe they were wrong about what they thought they liked. Spayar leaned over to sort of speak into Cole's ear, "It's okay you liked it," he said and ran his fingers across the top of Cole's hand and Cole looked up at him with sort of bewildered and confused eyes. Spayar just smiled at him nicely, because he could be nice sometimes, when he felt like it. “So you’ll send a message to the Castor?” he asked.

“Y-yeah,” Cole said and had to clear a dry throat.

“Great, thanks, Cole,” and he let his smile be a bit flirty as he left. He felt Cole staring after him before the door was between them and Spayar felt amazingly pleased with himself. Von always got on his case for not being charming, for not going after guys when he had every right to do so the same way men did with women. But the thing was that wasn't how it worked. You couldn't just go up to a guy and expect them to be into you if you were a guy. You had to be more subtle about it, see if they were into it. Von was all boisterous charisma. He oozed charm and around now he was starting to have actual sex appeal which he no doubt would be using as a weapon the same way he did his charm, charisma and intellect. Spayar was a much more subtle charmer, but he thought it was a pretty good indication of his ability that before him most of the guys he slept with were under the impression that they only like women.

—

The office of the High Alchemist was big and well decorated. It overlooked a portion of the city, even low in the council building, and had large windows. Jenjin was surprisingly young looking for old he claimed to be. He had a full head of hair, though it was indeed white, and a perfectly trimmed beard, and clear, brown, eyes. He was taller than most feylon, being nearly as tall as a flighter and had a very large nose, his skin the color of worked leather and his face was deeply wrinkled around his mouth and eyes. He claimed to be two hundred years old but Spayar would put him more around early sixties.

"Ah, Hillsman," Jenjin said when Spayar entered the room and rose to shake Spayar's hand, the old man’s grip was firm and warm. "What can I do for you?" he asked, Jenjin had a strange accent, and it was very thick, though it wasn't like any Spayar had ever heard. It led credence to the story that he was indeed from another continent or at the very least from beyond the Spine.

"I have a message," he handed Jenjin the message from Von and stepped back a little, not enough to be insulting but just to maintain a polite distance between them. Jenjin opened the message and looked it over. He started to frown as he read and the more he read the deeper he frowned.

"His highness asks for much," Jenjin said, folding up the message and looking at Spayar.

"He has great faith in you," Spayar said. "His siblings are massing important houses behind them, building their armies. A coup will happen soon."

"Galinsum is no noble house-

"Which is why you're important," Spayar said. "I'll be honest Albera, not many people know how to handle Galinsum without it going off in their hands. You don't work like how our cities do. The Asuras is scared of you, and of what you could potentially do."

"We haven't done anything," Jenjin said.

"Not yet, no," Spayar agreed and went to sit in the chair in front of the High Alchemist's desk. Jenjin went to sit in his own big chair behind it. "But the Asuras is wary of all of her major cities," because that was where her major houses were, former rulers of sovereign nations who would gladly take back that independence if given the chance, "but you so far have not shown to be threatening. Two hundred years and Galinsum has never back talked to the Asuras. It's making her nervous."

"Why?"

"Because you have no political ties. You're part of the Alliance and you obey her, but you aren't like us," as if that wasn't clear enough, Jenjin had tiny ears, just like Spayar. They were both first generation feylon, the population of the Alliance all had slightly pointed ears, triangular ears, except the Le'Acard whose were significant in their length to actually be noticeable upon first glance. "No Asuras in the past two hundred years has done much with you. You just sit here and produce things the world has never seen. It scares them that you hold no real allegiance to any lord, even the Asuras, since there is no lord to swear fealty for the city."

Jenjin looked pensive now, hands steepled in front of him, "I see," he said slowly, Galinsum did not bother itself with politics outside itself. "And what is the Asuras afraid we'll do?"

"Rebel," he said so in an obvious way.

"Now why would we do that?"

"Because you can," Spayar said. "You claim to owe your allegiance to the Alliance by no one can hold you to it. You have no one leader, you cannot, as a singular, declare yourself to our Asuras."

"And what does his highness think he'll do?"

Spayar drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair, "Prince Vondugard needs weapons. He needs an army."

"Galinsum does not produce weapons," Jenjin said.

"The grenados-

"Are mostly smoke and bang." 

"But they can be made into more. His highness wants them to be weaponized."

"And what will he do for us?"

"If he is around to honor your agreement he will give you whatever you desire, for he will be Asuras."

"And if I say no to his request?"

Spayar's eyes turned hard, "If he becomes Asuras without your help and you obviously went against him or helped one of his siblings his first act as Asuras will be to send the Embirrir to raise Galinsum to the ground. Prince Vondugard is not like his mother, or his predecessors before him. He will not allow a major power in his country to sit idle and do whatever they feel they want to do. If he sends the Embirrir they will kill everyone in this city, hunt them down, and ransack your precious books and bring them to Assarus or Surassa where he'll start a new school of alchemy."

Jenjin swallowed and knew Von meant it. You did not lightly threaten with the Embirrir. They were the boogie man, the warning to children to keep close in the dark. The ancient, and powerful, house had only been called to aid the Alliance a handful of times in its entire existence once the first Asuras, Sinou, died. When the Embirrir came only death, destruction, and total obliteration followed. "He does not have time for a city like Galinsum if it cannot be useful to him, Albera."

"Of course," Jenjin said, though sounded a bit shaken. "His highness wants weapons for a favor."

"Yes."

Jenjin drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, "Very well. If his highness is so concerned about us I already know what I want our favor to be."

"Name it then, it will be done if he lives to see the throne."

"I want my name in the Book of Bloods. I want to be a provence lord and be made governor. And, I want no penance."

Spayar blinked, he had not been expecting that. The Book of Bloods held the names of every noble family in the Alliance from the lowest country count to the prestigious provence governor. It was also a way new nobles could be made or nobles from other countries could convert to the Alliance. To be marked in the Book of Bloods you had to complete a task, one you would loathe to do, and if you did you were given a title and land. If you failed to sustain your house past yourself or your children your name was scratched out and you were never brought up again. Every high family had made it into the Book of Bloods by giving up their right to rule. It was not something done lightly.

Jungian was asking for no task. He would simply be entered into it without hesitation. Spayar looked at Jenjin, the man was very calm. "Well?" Jenjin asked, "Do we have a deal young Hillsman?"

"You want to be a provence lord?” he asked.

"I want to keep my city safe," Jenjin corrected, "This way, I do so, your little prince gets what he wants and I get to become a high lord."

Spayar tapped his index finger on the arm of the chair, thinking for a long while. "Fine," he said at last, he waved his hand and a piece of paper moved over to his side of the desk. He took a pen, one that didn't need an ink well- he needed to get one of these- and wrote out the agreement. He'd spent two years here and knew how alchemists worked, they functioned on contracts much like lawyers. He wrote one up and let Jenjin look at it. "If prince Vondugard wins and you uphold your side of the contract you will get your name in the Book of Bloods," Spayar held the pen for Jenjin to take and sign his name.

"A fair deal," Jenjin said, reading the contract thoroughly before signing it. "And his highness?"

Spayar took a little bag out of his pocket and poked around in it before finding what he wanted. It was a signet ring. "Wax," Spayar said and Jenjin produced it and dropped some hot, bright green, wax onto the bottom of the paper. Spayar waited a moment before pressing the seal into the wax and signing Von's name. If you looked at his forged signature and Von's real one it would be difficult to tell them apart.

"You sign all of his highness' important papers?" Jenjin asked.

"When I have to," Spayar said, standing up to his full height and he'd still have to look up at Jenjin. He dropped Von's ring back into the bag  with several other rings and put it away, the weave he used to secure it made the bag stick to the inside of his pocket.

Jenjin looked him over, "How old are you Hillsman?" he asked, sounding thoughtful as he sat behind his desk.

“Nineteen, sir,” he said.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I best be careful then. Not even fully grown and already one of the most dangerous men I've ever met. The prince certainly has a wolf on his side, doesn't he?"

Spayar swallowed, "I only do what's required of me."

"Well, you're very good at it," Jenjin said, "Shame you didn't stay to finish all your classes here at Galinsum. We could have made you something special."

"I already am special," Spayar said. He was a mage, a sword fighter, a hand to hand adept, a courtier, he could do some basic healing and do intermediate alchemy and knew his way around nobles, peasants, and the sparse underworld of the Alliance alike. He was a man with many faces and duties, all of which he performed flawlessly. He wore and changed responsibilities like men changed clothes. He was a crown prince's best friend and keeper, his confidant. No one could look at Spayar and not say he wasn't special, not say he hadn’t labored through ten years to become what he was now. He didn't know quite what that was himself. Whatever it was he did it magnificently.

"That you are," Jenjin picked up the contract now that the ink and wax were dry, "I'm sure you'll be hearing from us soon. I'll send a message, privately, once the council has been informed and we can get under way. If all goes well we'll have some of what your prince needs by mid Lun,” and he folded the contract carefully and put it in a box Spayar recognized as a fire box. If you didn't open it properly with the right combination it would explode.

"That's good to hear. Good day Albera," and he saw himself out. Once outside all the air rushed out of his lungs. He looked down at his hands, they were shaking a little. He might be good at what he did but that didn't mean it didn't sometimes scare him, the things he could and did do. He'd just threatened an entire city with the Embirrir. The thought of the Embirrir made him a little scared. He'd been raised, just like all feylon, on those stories. He had every reason to feel fear. When you let the Embirrir out you unleashed a storm that was hard to stop. Spayar had threatened Galinsum with the Embirrir without hesitation, promised Von would use those horrors against his own people if he had to. No small part of Spayar felt guilt for that. 

Von was sometimes too nice for his own good, a schemer yes, but didn’t know you had to appear larger and more threatening than you really were. The Alliance was a snake pit, each more deadly and venomous than the last. Kindness and slithering around behind others’ backs only got you so far. If you wanted the snakes in the Alliance to respect you, or even take you seriously you had to be a bigger and badder snake than even they wanted to deal with. Von wasn’t good at that, that was why he kept Spayar around apparently.

Someone was walking down the hall towards him and the stairs behind him and Spayar looked up. He was surprised to see it was Cole, carrying books so high in his arms he couldn't see where he was going really. Spayar waited until he was about to pass before saying, "Hi Cole." The secretary was so startled he dropped a few books.

"Oh shit," Cole said softly and went to bend down even as Spayar couched and picked them all up. "Uh... thank you, I can take them," Cole said, looking at Spayar and then over his shoulder at the door of the High Alchemist.

"Looks like you got quite a lot on your hands," Spayar said and looked at the books he was holding, "Want some help?"

"Uh... it's fine."

"You sure?" Spayar rose his brows  at Cole, "I was on my way downstairs anyway."

Cole hesitated and shifted his grip on the books he was holding, "Okay then," he said, though sounded unsure. "Thanks," and he smiled when Spayar smiled. As they left Jenjin's door opened and he walked quickly down the hall to the stairs. 

"He's in a hurry," Spayar said.

"Council meeting is in session. He's late," Cole said as they started down the stairs, going slow because Cole still held a stack of books. "Which is a surprise, he's usually never late for sessions."

"Important meeting," Spayar said.

Cole looked at him with slight disbelief, "With you?"

"Yes," Spayar said. "Everything I do is important," he smirked a little and Cole suddenly looked very flustered and missed a step. Spayar grabbed him even as he started to pitch forward. The books leapt out of his arms and flew down the stairs with a series of thuds as they hit the tile floor. “Careful there,” Spayar said, still holding onto Cole.

“Ah— thanks,” he said and shook Spayar off and quickly started to gather the books up. Spayar helped him and soon they were both carrying a much shorter stack.  

 "So Milo is also at the council session?" Spayar asked once they were walking again.

"Of course."

"Then what are you doing here?" Usually secretaries were in the council meetings, keeping minutes for their boss or to be around to run errands should it be needed or get food if the meetings inevitably ran long.

"He had me go up to the archive while he was gone to find information on something."

"On what?"

"Nothing interesting," Cole said meekly.

"Is that your way to say I wouldn't get it?" Spayar asked, "Don't forget I'm an alchemist too," he said as they reached Milo’s office.

"Right," Cole said and dug around in his pocket for the door key. "It's for looking to see if you can retroactively kick someone off the council."

"What?" Spayar said, "As in their dead?"

"Yes. Councilor Hennigan served for forty years before he passed away. Milo has found some proof that he might..." he paused and then said softly, "might have been taking bribes," and Spayar's eyes widened. Cole fished a key from his pocket, holding the books in one hand, and unlocked Milo's office. "Milo wants to see if he can retroactively dismiss Hennigan from the council."

"Sounds like a lot of reading. Has it ever happened before?"

"Not that I know," Cole said as he set the books down, Spayar kicked the door closed. Cole turned around and seemed to realize he was alone in a room with Spayar. The last time that had happened he'd ended up bent over his desk with Spayar's teeth marks on his back. "It's uh... going to be a lot of research," he said awkwardly.

"I'll help if you want," Spayar said, putting down the books he'd been carrying, “The flighter taking me home isn’t expecting me till later,” at the very least to tell them they’d be staying one more day. He promised Milo a favor to set Cole ‘right’ and Spayar would do that before he left.

"Ah, it's no problem. I can handle it."

Spayar looked over the stack of thick books Cole had brought down from the archive, "You sure? Seems like a lot of boring reading. At the very least I can help make it less boring," he looked over at Cole.

Cole swallowed and played with his hands, suddenly looking at anywhere but Spayar. Maybe Cole wasn't straight as he had been last time Spayar met him. Wouldn't be the first time Spayar had fucked a guy out of that. Spayar sat lightly on the edge of his desk. "Ah..." he flushed a little as he said, "okay, I think that’d be fine.” 

Spayar grinned, "Lets get to it then," he said, picked up a book and sat down. Knowing the meeting he'd just had with Albera this council session would last a long time, he had plenty of time to work on Cole and give Milo a helpful secretary again.


	9. Pact with the Shadowkin

Spayar knew something was in his room as soon as he opened the door. It wasn't a feeling that something bad was going to happen, just that something was out of place. There were no candles or lamps lit and the shutters were drawn closed against the nearly constant autumn rain in Assarus so it was difficult to see but he was a mage and a warrior and knew when things were off. Something felt off now and the part of Spayar that wasn't that brave at all wanted to just step back and head back downstairs and get his dad to deal with it like he had when he was nine and made him check under the bed for mud rats- a mythical rat creature with golden eyes and slimy brown fur that crawled into your mouth at night to suffocate you. He couldn't though because he was nineteen and a grown ass man and fully capable. He hated being an adult.

He stepped into his room and kept his power close. Nothing happened. He looked around, squinting into the shadows but still saw nothing. He waited a moment before he was satisfied he was just being paranoid. He went over to one of the lamps on his dresser and turned it back up to illuminate the room when he felt something behind him.

Spayar didn't have time to react, "You're home!" a high pitched voice cried, nearly right in Spayar's ear and he flinched as he was tackled, first by one body, then by a second, and finally a third and he couldn't remain standing and they all fell to the floor in a heap.

"Ahg!" Spayar yelled and found his siblings crawling all over him and realized what had happened. They'd been waiting for him up here when they probably saw him in the shed checking in on his horse and then saying hello to their mother. "Get off!" he howled and his three siblings laughed and did no such thing, clinging to his neck and waist. "Mom!" he yelled.

"What?" she called from downstairs.

"Help!"

His siblings giggled as he struggled to sit up and he heard his mother coming up the stairs. A moment later she arrived in the doorway and laughed at what she saw, Calli, Anora and Duren all piled up on top of Spayar in the most uncomfortable position. "What are you three doing?" she asked them, a smile on her face, and put her hands on her hips.

"Spayar's home mama," Anora said cheerfully, she had her arms around Spayar's neck, head under his chin.

"Yes I can see that," Relora said with a smile, amused by her eldest son's predicament. "I think he'd like to be able to stand up though."

"I would, yes," Spayar gasped because Duren was laying on his stomach and for only thirteen Duren already had their father's thick frame and body and was heavy. His little siblings giggled but when Relora told them to get up they did. Duren and Calli helped to drag Spayar to his feet. He took stock of himself and made sure he wasn't hurt.

"You three let your brother have a moment, he just came back from Galinsum," Relora said.

"Are you staying longer than last time Spayar?" Calli asked. Gods she looked even more grown up than when Spayar had seen her a few weeks ago. It might have been the clothes, which were fashionable and the way she wore her hair. Spayar could already foresee his father growling at all the suitors his little sister would have soon, especially with a brother like Spayar. At least if he stayed as important as he was. He may very well be dead in the next year.

"Something wrong sweetie?" his mom asked him. Thinking about the coup made his chest tight, made him stare death in the face. If Von was killed there was no way the Asuras would let him live. He was too close to Von, too loyal. He'd never bend on another Le'Acard. He was _d'alaer_. It would be Von, or no one.

"Yeah, sorry I was just thinking about something," he smiled a little. "And I will be staying until his royal highness comes back from his trip.”

"Do you know how long that is?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head, "though the rains will keep everyone inside for a while,” they always did at the start of fall when the Meltong Basin started its wet season which was its autumn, it petered off after Lugalsta in the beginning of Lun usually. "He's coming from the coast though so I should have plenty of time to slack off," he grinned.

"Yes," Duren looked up at Spayar in delight, "will you teach me how to ride Spayar?" he asked.

"Ride a horse?" Duren nodded eagerly. Spayar cocked his head at his brother. Common folk in Assarus didn't normally have horses, his family hadn't had one until Von had given Spayar his mare a few years ago. His father had built the shed next to the house for her when Spayar was home. "Why?"

"Because I want to," Duren said.

"Uh," he looked at his mother.

"He's been bothering your father about it," his mother said.

"He said if you said yes he'd give me time out of the forge to practice," Duren said seriously.

"If I have time," Spayar said and that seemed good enough for Duren. He announced he was going to tell their dad and wiggled through the door their mother was still standing in.

"C'mon you two, let your brother take a bath," Relora said and shepherded her daughters out of the bedroom, closing the door after them to give him some privacy.

Spayar sighed once he was gone and could finally put his things away. He turned on another one of the lamps as he pulled out his dirty laundry for cleaning and put his weapons and bag away. He didn't travel with much and was used to packing up and leaving quickly. He rolled his eyes at the thought of Von summoning him when they were younger to go hunting or to visit some friend of his outside of Assarus for a few days. He was taking off his leather jacket when he felt the wrongness again and stopped as he undid the first buckle near his throat and looked around his room again. Someone was still in here with him, not just his little sisters and brother.

"Who's there?" he asked, there was no answer, "I know you're there; show yourself I don't have time for games." He honestly wasn't expecting anyone, but giving voice to his paranoia made him feel better. So when a piece of shadow broke off from one of the high corners of his ceiling and fell to the floor with a soft thud Spayar froze and went cold. 

Spayar swallowed at what rose from the little puddle of darkness; a lonth. Lords of shadows they were all wizards or mages and lethal with any weapon including their hands. The Shade were one of the most southern houses in the Alliance before you hit the Kas’sca and incredibly small but powerful. This one in front of him wore his Shroud tight to his body, making his skin black and shiny like a bug's carapace, only his face and hair revealed. He was older than Spayar by only perhaps three years with nearly ruddy skin with black eyes and hair and looked like a Black Foot though removed some generations from the original people who lived within the lands of the LoHaJo'in province.

"Are you Spayar Hillsman junior?" the lonth asked, despite being from the coast like Peonia and the Garden which had similar accents that were quick, rolling and beautiful the Shade had a starkly different one that made them sound sort of slow. The Black Foot language was very meandering and since the Shade had come from the Black Foot their accent mimicked that.

"I am, who are you?” Spayar said.

"My name is DiSol Shade," they bowed a little to him, "Second son of LouSai, Shadow Lord." That made Spayar uneasy.

"What can I do for you DiSol?" Spayar asked keeping as calm as possible. Von said that the Shade had been quiet lately and killed anyone who came into their province, or at least any spies never returned. But it was the Shade, the Shade did not allow survivors to those they considered traitors.

"You are the _d'alaer_ of Vondugard Le'Acard are you not?" he asked.

"I am."

"A worthy thing to give your life for then," and Spayar grabbed his power in case DiSol attacked him. DiSol didn't move towards him and Spayar realized that if DiSol had wanted to kill him he could have done it already or if he wanted to know Spayar wouldn't be able to stop him, lonths never let a target live.

"What do you want?"

“We need help and the Shadow Lord is dying,” he said.

"Excuse me?" dropping his power in pure shock. The Shadow Lord was _dying_?

"Virilia," the Asuras, "has sent my father threats if he does not cooperate. I'm sure you've heard we have closed the borders of our province to outsiders," Spayar nodded, "my father is very sick and has put my older brother in charge of defending DisAdo and keeping the house safe." Spayar knew DiSol's older brother, CoLan, nearly everyone in the Alliance knew him, they called him the Dawn Demon and he was a monster, the strongest lonth there had ever been. Ruthless and cunning without a good thing about him he was said to have no conscious and did his duty for the pleasure of the kill. "My brother is not a good leader," DiSol said and his Shroud retreated back from his body like seeping water revealing his gray mottled clothing, his Shroud becoming a cape behind him.

"I don't see why you need me."

"My brother has been killing Virilia's spies when they come and see what is going on in LoHaJo'in as well as anyone else who crosses from the Relua province into ours. I managed to convince him to let normal people to pass through unscathed but he doesn't like it. As I said, Virilia is sending my father threats, my brother sees them instead because he is acting Shadow Lord. He has gone into the Boggarts to find Black Foot to raise an army." Spayar paled, another house who wanted to raise an army. Black Foot used a type of magic that robbed people of their free will, they were puppet masters and if you had a band of Black Foot shamen in your army you could make the enemy dance for you. At least those were the stories. He hadn’t heard of an actual puppeteer in decades. "Virilia said that if we do not bend by the spring she will send an Arm to wipe us out and remind us that the Le'Acard rule the south, not the Shade and we will be an example to all the other houses."

"CoLan is gone now?" DiSol nodded, "Who is running DisAdo now?"

"With my brother gone, I am. My father sent me here to beg," he'd never heard of a lonth begging before. "My father says that a Le'Acard who managed to find themselves a _d'alaer_ were good, better than most. The other princes or princesses couldn't help us, they wouldn't be able to move quickly enough. But His Highness Vondugard-" he seemed lost for words for a moment. "CoLan will be gone until spring, until then I am running DisAdo.”

"Vondugard has till then to move," Spayar said softly.

DiSol nodded, "When my brother returns he will set his army at the border of LoHaJo'in and wait for Virilia to move against him. If he does we will lose. We may win the battle but we will be crippled. Our harvests have been horrible this year, our resources will be tight on our people as it is, let alone needing to feed and supply my brother’s army. A small army of lonths can hold back one branch of the Alliance army but the Alliance is a bottomless well of people. Virilia will just find more people, send the other Arms. We will be crushed."

"I understand," Spayar said, nodding, thinking quickly. This was a lot to take in. He wasn't aware the situation with the Shade was quite so dire. And the bad harvests weren’t just effecting the central Alliance. Even somewhere as far away as LoHanJo’in was suffering, like a malevolent hand of a god was pressed across the land. He needed to find out what other provinces would also suffer a food shortage this year once the harvest was brought in. One thing at a time though. He needed to focus on DiSol and making sure he could handle what was needed there. "Can you promise Vondugard lonths when it is time?"

"I will give you as many as you want. The Shade _need_ a new Asuras. We will not exist past the spring if Virilia remains where she is."

"Why didn't you just go to Vondugard himself with this?"

“Spies follow him everywhere. I am good, but I'm not invisible. And we know you have his ear. We know you will speak for him." Spayar came up short on that. He did? Since when? Since he'd gone to Galinsum in his name and signed his name and signet on a contract with alchemists. Since he'd started to carry around important seals in his pocket and learned to forge Von's signature. "Do we have his Highness' help?"

"Yes," Spayar said, "You do. We will move as soon as we can. Try to stall your brother, the Asuras' furies are short lived she may not send an army to you. But if what you're telling me comes to pass you're saying we have till the end of winter to prepare," DiSol nodded. "What about your father?"

"He's sick."

"With what?"

"We don't know, and we don't know if he'll get better soon. It may be a long illness," DiSol frowned. "He sees the error of putting my brother in command, but he's too sick for his orders to remove CoLan to be taken seriously. My brother just says our father is sick and doesn't know what he's saying."

"He's really a demon," Spayar said.

DiSol smiled a little, fractured, smile, "It's why they call him the Dawn Demon," he said.

"Return to DisAdo and tell your father Vondugard will help you. I also want to send a healer with you to look at your father."

"We have some of the best-

"It wasn't a request," Spayar said, "I know if my father was sick I'd want all the help I could get."

DiSol looked up at Spayar with grateful eyes, he bowed a little, "Thank you Hillsman," he said.

"Also tell your father that when he's better he must ensure that your brother can never take the Seat of Shadows," Spayar said. "I don't care how but the Dawn Demon is too volatile to be Shadow Lord."

"I agree," DiSol said.

"That is the price for the prince's help, that his eldest son can never become Shadow Lord."

"A price he will be willing to pay," DiSol said.

"Give me a day to find my healer friend, she will go with you back to DisAdo and see to your father."

"You're too kind. I will give you to the ninth morning bell tomorrow," DiSol said and Spayar nodded. "Thank you Hillsman," he said again.

"Make sure the Shade are ready to move in the spring."

"We will be, I promise," and his Shroud once again wrapped around his body, turning him into a black insect and then it covered his face, only his black eyes visible. He bowed to Spayar and then went to the window and eased the shutters open. DiSol climbed onto the sill and instead of dropping like Spayar expected DiSol stood up and climbed onto the roof, a black tendril of his Shroud snaking down and closing the shutters, locking them behind him. Spayar shuttered.

He stood there a few moments, looking at the shutters and suddenly everything seemed accelerated. He went to his desk, pulled out paper, a pen, and ink and wrote a message to Jenjin. Progress needed to be made sooner than the winter. He sealed it with his personal mark and then spelled it so that if anyone but the intended recipient opened it it would burst into flames. He added an extra weave under that one so that if someone touched the top weave to investigate it that weave would trigger anyway. He rebuckled his leather jacket and grabbing the letter went back downstairs.

"Spayar where are you going?" his mother called as he grabbed his hat from the rack by the door

"Post office, then to see a friend, be right back," Spayar said, tucking the letter inside his jacket's breast pocket.

“Will you be back for dinner?”

“Yes,” Spayar said, looking at her through the window in the wall between the kitchen and the dining room. He could smell the wonderful food she was preparing.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, standing a bit more in view, the ceremonial scars on her forehead nearly touching from her furrowed brown.

He looked at her and frowned. He'd just cut his own life nearly in half with his agreement to help the Shade. Before he'd had a year till the coup. With his declaration to help the Shade he'd shortened it to just a few months. "No," he said and then turned and walked out the side door. Outside it was raining and Spayar put his wide, waterproof, hat on and walked off into the storm.

—

The rain during the fall was nearly constant in the Meltong Basin, and of course that was exactly where the winter capital was located, at the center of the Alliance. Spayar was watching the rain outside and people rush around under the awnings lining the sidewalks, or hunched over on horses or buggies. In the house it was warm and dry.

Mali was in the kitchen with his mother and he could hear the two of them talking, but wasn’t paying attention to their words. The sun had risen two bells ago but the sunlight was wane, wet, and gray. He was waiting for the ninth morning bell when DiSol would show himself and he and Mali would return to the LoHaJo'in province and DisAdo

He looked over when someone sat next to him, it was Calli. His perfect, proper, sixteen year old sister with more sense in her head than just about anyone Spayar knew. She was wearing a morning gown that came to her knees and had little yellow horses embroidered on it. She looked like she'd just woken up but yet was alert and keen. "Good morning," he said.

"Morning," she yawned a little, putting her hand over her mouth. "You're up early. Usually when his highness is away you sleep in."

"Busy," Spayar said, leaning against the arm of the chair. "Can't sleep now," literally. He'd tossed and turned all night and had dreams of a red eyed necromancer standing over his grave reading from the Red Book to summon a necrell that would take his soul to the Shadowed Lands. He hadn't been able to sleep after that nightmare.

"Busy with what?"

"It doesn't matter to you," he waved her inquiry away.

"Why, cause I'm a girl?" she asked.

He looked at her and laughed in her face, "Calli, I would never be so stupid as to keep a matter away from someone for as trivial a thing as gender. It doesn't matter to you because it literally has no bearing on your life if you know, and is better if you didn't know anyway."

"Why?"

"Because your brother is doing a very bad thing," he said softly looking away.

"Which is?"

He gave her a look, "If you're lucky you won't ever know," he said and looked back out the window. He could see the big bell tower from here, through the rain, its face illuminated from the inside, and knew it was close to the ninth bell.

"Spayar," Calli asked after a few minutes. He 'hmm'd at her. "Will you introduce me to some nobles?"

"Why would you want to do that?" though he didn't look at her.

"Because I want an interesting, wealthy, husband," and Spayar looked at her so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

"What?" he squeaked.

"I said-

"I know what you said," he waved her words away impatiently. "Calli, you're sixteen, and a commoner. You aren't obligated to marry," he reminded her.

"I know, but I will marry someone, someday."

"And you're sure you'll have a husband?" he challenged.

Calli came up short, clearly she hadn't thought of that. Her brother would never have a wife like Duren probably would. He would never have children either. She thought about the implications of her sexuality for a moment, mulled them over a moment and then said, "Yes, I will have a husband. I like boys, you're a good role model for liking boys," she smiled at him and he smacked her knee playfully, making her giggle. "And I want a good one. A courageous, handsome, wealthy, noble, husband," she said.

"Heh, well I can tell you sis, those types of men are few and far between. Also why would you want a noble?"

"Because I never want to worry if something happens to us," Calli said. "Mama is always worried about you and I'm old enough to realize that if something happened to you..." she bit her lips, "papa might not get as much business." He knew what she was saying. If he died in a coup, fighting against someone who beat Von, he'd be a traitor, and his family would be cast in that shadow. No one would want what his father made.

"Nothing is going to happen to me," Spayar promised. "And you don't want a noble husband. Nobles are awful. Trust me, I know plenty."

"But what about you?"

"What about me?"

She blinked and knew she needed to proceed carefully. She licked her lips before saying, "Aren't you in love with a noble?"

"What? No,” he scoffed

"So you're not in love with the prince?" and Spayar's face went slack and he flushed brilliantly, the color probably showing a bit on his dark skin. She smiled a little, "You have no room to talk about wanting a noble husband," she said.

He scowled at her, "It is a completely different situation. Vondugard is my best friend and my prince, of course I love him."

"You know what I mean."

"You're completely delusional," he waved her off. "And you don't want a stupid, prideful, noble for a husband. You're sixteen, and too young and good for most of them."

"I won't know unless I meet them though will I?" she asked.

"No," he said sternly.

"At least let me come to her highness' Talalsalla's naming day party this year," she begged. “Please,” she put her hands together in a begging fashion. “I promise I’ll be good.”

He huffed through his nose and puffed his cheeks out a bit. She gave him her best doe eyes. "Fine," he grunted and rolled his eyes a bit.

She got out of the chair and hugged him tightly, "Thank you. Thank you,” and then kissed him on both cheeks and between the eyes.

"Yeah yeah," and the clock started to ring. Nine bells. "Now I need to go do stuff," he pushed her off gently and stood. "Mali," he called and went to the kitchen. His mother and Mali were in there standing at the island. Relora was packing Mali a bag of food while Mali tried to say she didn't need it but Relora just shushed her and packed it anyway. Spayar's eyes went to the window as the shutter eased itself open and a dark, man shaped, mass slipped into the kitchen. If Spayar hadn't been looking at the window he'd have missed it and it would be as if DiSol had just appeared.

"Having fun?" Spayar asked them.

"Your mother is too kind," Mali said, slightly beside herself.

"Nonsense. We're having a bad harvest this year and I doubt you'll be able to get as good of food as this elsewhere,” Relora said kindly. “And Dirinnan food is made to put meat on those bones,” and she patted Mali’s torso with all the gentle love a mother could muster.

“Relora-

“I _insist_ ,” Relora said firmly.

Mali sighed a bit theatrically. “Fine. Is he here?" Mali asked turning to Spayar, unlike some of Spayar and Von’s friends Mali was usually fully abreast of the situation. She was also the one with her ear to the ground within the Wizen conglomerate since Spayar no longer associated himself with the Wizen. Spayar had told her why she was going to LoHaJo'in and why it was important she make LouSai well as soon as possible.

"I am," and Mali and Relora both turned when DiSol spoke, standing behind them. Thankfully he wasn't wearing his Shroud over him, so he looked rather normal. "This is the healer you spoke of?" he asked Spayar, looking at Mali.

"Yes, this is Mali Thralluk," he said, "Mali, this is DiSol Shade."

"Never met a lonth before," she looked him up and down, "I expected them to be taller." DiSol frowned at her but didn't take the bait. Mali turned back to Relora, "Thank you so much Relora, you're too good to me."

"Of course dear. Any friend of Spayar's is always welcome at our home and table."

“We should leave, before the rain gets worse,” DiSol said emotionlessly.

”Right, c’mon,” he nodded to Mali and DiSol and they followed him out of the kitchen. Despite just being out in the rain DiSol wasn't wet so he didn't have to worry about the lonth tracking water into the house. They left the house for and stood under the second story overhang that looked out onto the side yard. "Mali is aware of the situation," he told DiSol, who nodded, "while she's there she'll be acting as Vondugard's voice."

"Does she have the same authority as you?" DiSol asked.

Mali and Spayar looked at one another. Neither of them kidded themselves in who was higher, who held more weight and authority, "No," he said. "But if she promises something for Vondugard it's likely to be carried out," he gave Mali a look to make sure she knew not to fuck it up. He trusted her though, After Tassa and Von Mali was one of his oldest friends, even if they hadn’t started on perhaps the most honest of terms. Von had instructed Spayar to make friends with her when they were eleven because she had few and because she was powerful. Their friendship had since then become less self serving.  "She knows what to do, do you?"

"When we return to LoHaJo'in I'll keep my brother occupied and away from DisAdo for as long as I can."

"I'll send the summons for aid through Mali. You march on her say," DiSol looked at her and then nodded slowly. "Good," Spayar wracked his brain, what else could he do? Not much. He'd done everything he could really. "Safe journey," he kissed Mali on her cheeks and between her eyes, "Make the Shadow Lord well," he ordered.

"He'll be skipping through fields of flowers in no time," she promised him with a smile.

"I'll hold you to that.”

"Let's go," DiSol said seriously, "I've already been away from LoHaJo'in long enough. I need to get back."

"Goodbye Spayar," Mali said.

"Keep her safe," Spayar said sternly as he saw the two to the high walled fence, rain splattering across Spayar’s head. Mali's horse was in the shed with his own mare and she went to get it.

"You have my word," DiSol said, "no harm will come to her."

"I can take care of myself," Mali said, “I did my time, remember?” she gave him a look.

"Just let me worry a little," Spayar half pleaded.

She grinned, "We'll see you in spring," and DiSol drew his Shroud over his body and face as Mali put on her wide hat and mounted her horse and entered the rain again and trotted out to the road, her horse seemed miserable. She waved and then turned the corner onto the road and was out of sight. A half moment later Spayar saw a black shadow streak after her. Spayar frowned after them. There was nothing he could do now. He'd done all he could. He closed the door and went back inside.


	10. It all Works as it Should

On the few clear days in the Meltong Basin during the wet season Assarus came to life like an ant hive. Most people tried to stay indoors as often as possible in the autumn because it rained nearly every day, so when the sky was clear and the weather wizards predicted no rain everyone made sure to make the most  of it. Spayar was on his mare in traffic, Duren sitting in front of him, sitting straight up and looking all around. Thankfully Spayar still had several inches on him or it would be a problem. 

His mare barely noticed the extra weight. She was a horse bred to carry a knight in full armor, she had a shaggy coat, thick legs, and great big hooves. A cousin to the draft horses in the fields his mare had come from the royal stables. Von had gifted her to Spayar three years ago when Spayar complained about always having different horses wherever they went. Now she was his, he couldn't even begin to think of how expensive a horse like Spayar's was, trained for battle and didn't even flinch when her rider used magic. Not to mention the size, she was massive, and everyone got out of her way.

"Where are we going?"  Duren asked, turning around to look at Spayar, holding onto the pommel to keep from falling off.

"You'll see," though of course Duren knew why. He'd begged and begged Spayar over breakfast to show him how to ride and Spayar had given in if only to just make him shut up. By now they were leaving Bellringer and into South Garden which looked like it was trying very hard to mimic the style of Nedrag and the Garden with it's clean, boxy, buildings and covered in fauna. The city of Assarus or Surassa themselves had no one culture. They were a melting pot of all the provinces, and thus all the kingdoms the Alliance had conquered in its two thousand year being. Parts of South Garden looked like Nedalia or Dalican, there were motifs from the Yellow Hills in South Garden and he saw symbols from the city of Mirin painted on the sides of buildings. People from the west of the Alliance had settled South Garden, much like the east had settled in Bellringer with it's gray stone buildings and clocks and its focus on craft rather than showing off.

"Shouldn't we be going outside the city?" Duren asked since South Garden was further in and really Spayar just wanted to get to Tradesmens as quickly as possible since unlike Peonia it sometimes mimicked itself after South Garden was one of the most twisting and confusing districts in the capital other than perhaps Cat's Cradle, even the Mire and Downriver were more organized than this.

"You'll see," Spayar just said again pushing his mare through a busy intersection full of people. When they saw his big war horse they jumped out of the way. Spayar was trying to be nice but he was getting annoyed with how busy this damn city was and he had a big horse. Big horses won over busy pedestrians.

"I can see Swan Island from here," Duren pointed once they finally got through South Garden and into Tradesmens. Spayar looked and indeed they could see the holy island from here over the low buildings and warehouses of Tradesmens, meaning Spayar was way off course. "Are we going to Swan Island?" Duren asked, confused.

"No," even as he made his mare head for the river. They came up to the walled bank of the Meltong and could see Swan Island easily. A small lake had formed here in the Meltong river in a low part of the land before it continued its journey south to the Break and the Fea’staal Sea. behind. Swan Island sat in the middle of the lake and it was a large, beautiful park, filled with temples. From here they could see people going in and out of them and people on horses or people enjoying the sunlight on the grass or under the trees. 

"Can we go to Swan Island?" Duren asked.

"I thought you wanted to learn to ride," Spayar said.

"Yeah I know, but we rarely go to Swan Island."

"Another time. I'll take you and the girls on Asumsest if you want," and he turned his horse to start down the road, running parallel to the river, towards the Winter Palace at the top of the hill in the distance. Tradesmens was full of canals that went into warehouses from the river and looked more like something from the country of Tipin than anything else. Bridges spanned every canal for horses and pedestrians, though they were too steep and high to allow bigger boats through, so carriages had to take other routes. Few people were on the River Road though there were a lot of boats in the river. The Meltong was always full of boats and today was especially bad since it was full of trade ships and barges as well as personal boats with brightly colored sails or sides. At the very least both the river and the river road were orderly. 

The River Road wound north and east, through parts of South Garden, where Spayar didn’t let anyone get in his way lest they get trampled by war horse hooves, and then through the entire length of Uptown. The Hillsman children all went to school in Uptown and it was good part of the city, more like a financial district than anything. There was a bank on every street from every major city in the Alliance and everyone moved with purpose here, no dawdling or frolicking about like in South Garden. Here people were all business and people stayed on the side walks and out of the traffic of horses, carriages, and some strange two wheeled contraption Spayar had never seen but flew down the street as quick as any horse.

When the River Road finally dumped them into Fey's Shadow Duren turned to Spayar accusingly. Spayar just rose his brows at his brother. Duren frowned the Hillsman frown at Spayar and turned back around. In Fey's Shadow the roads were wide and well kept, the manses behind their tall, thick, walls, were every style in the Alliance. The wealthiest people lived in Fey's Shadow and most nobles had houses here as well, and built their mansions in the style of their home cities. You could see the entire gambit of architectural styles in Fey's Shadow from the low, spider web-like dwellings of the Wren-Kel, to the tall, low eaved, state house of the Peony. Spayar kept his horse on still and Duren's head kept moving, looking all around, trying to see everything. A lot of the houses were out of sight behind the walls but he tried, or caught glimpses of them through the gates.

At some point they came to the Twin Switches bridges, where the Meltong looped back around to itself and were only a few hundred feet apart. Two identical bridges built in a northern style spanned both parts of the Meltong and as they crossed the first bridge you could sort of see over the thick, protective, wall of the North estate. Duren raised himself up in the saddle a bit as though to see better before sitting back down. The North estate was the most heavily fortified estate they’d seen thus far, and the largest. Spayar knew there were bigger ones than the North’s, but it was up there.

“Who lives there?” Duren asked Spayar.

“The Norths,” Spayar said.

“Wow,” he said, “Do you know them?”

“By reputation, now sit down I can’t see,” and Duren turned right way round and sat properly as they started to cross the second Switch. Very shortly after they’d passed the North estate the road started to slant upwards to the Palace which gleamed like a snow capped mountain from the peak. 

There were no walls around the grounds of the Winter Palace, just like the rest of Assarus. There hadn't been an attack on the capital in two thousand years when neighboring nations had thought the young Alliance weak. Even the Federation wasn't stupid enough to attack their northern capital. You touched Assarus and a wrath that couldn't be imagined was unleashed. Not since Sinou's death had anyone tried to take Assarus or rather, Surassa, with any serious intent. The first Asuras had made sure the fear of what the Le'Acard could do would be felt through the ages until the end of time.

No one stopped Spayar as he rode up to the palace and Duren started to shift in front of him in wonder. It was above Duren to ever think of coming to the Winter Palace. His brother had been born and raised in Bellringer and he wasn't a knight, or a courtier or anyone of importance really.

Spayar didn't get too close to the Palace, instead he went around to the side where the stables were, where his own horse had been bred. A stable hand came out to see him when he got closer. "Sir," he bowed when he saw Spayar. Spayar recognized him.

"Oh stand up Jill," Spayar said, unimpressed. The stable hand, Jill, looked up, a rueful smile on his face like what Spayar did to Von Jill bowed to Spayar to annoy him.

The oldest son of a talented weaver Jill was a spry young man Spayar's age with a gap in his front teeth, large ears, big green eyes, and hair the color of a carrot that stuck out wildly from any hat he tried to wear. They'd been sort of friends before Spayar had met Von, more friends because their mothers were friends. After Jill had finished his mandatory schooling in Bellringer he’d begged Spayar to get him a job in the Palace. So Spayar had and now he worked in the stables, right where Jill wanted to be with his love of animals. "You ain't impression' no one."

Jill laughed and stood up straight, walking over to take the mare's bridle as Spayar dismounted with a grunt. Damn horse sometimes felt too big for him, even with his long legs. "Wha'cha here for?" Jill asked.

"Riding lessons, c'mon Duren," he held his arms up for his little brother. Duren dragged one leg over the saddle so he was sitting with both on the same side and then slid down into Spayar's arms. He wasn't strong enough to catch Duren anymore, his brother too big for that, but he could make sure he got to the ground safely.

"For who? You? You’re one of the best riders I know," and Jill sucked on his gap.

"No no, for my brother," Duren stood behind Spayar. He didn't know Jill, Spayar wasn't surprised, the damn guy slept with the horses now and rarely went home to Bellringer. Spayar also didn’t see or mention Jill like he did his actual friends. They’d been boys together but had nothing in common anymore and didn’t really interact except for times like these. "I need an easy horse, lower to the ground than her," he patted his mare's neck fondly.

"Want a pony?" he asked, "We have a few marshy geldings.”

"Yeah, that sounds fine."

"You got it," and then he turned back towards the stables, leading Spayar's horse away. As he did Jill yelled, "Mavok, get one of the ponies saddled up!"

"Who was that?" Duren asked him.

"A friend," Spayar said, Duren just looked confused. "What?" he asked.

"You have other friends other than the prince?" Duren asked.

"Of course I do," Spayar said irritably. Spayar had a lot of friends, though few good ones, and countless acquaintances he knew more about than he had any right to. "Vondugard isn't my only friend."

"Seems like," Duren said, making a face, "dad says so a least."

"Dad doesn't know half the things I do," thank the gods for that. “Don’t listen to everything dad says, he’s not always right.”

Duren frowned, not liking Spayar talking about their dad in any negative light. “Why do I have to ride a pony? I want to ride a horse," Duren decided to complain about that instead.

"A pony is fine to start with and probably as much as a horse as you'll ever ride," he patted Duren's shoulder. Duren looked at him sourly. "You're a smith brother, not a knight, you got no need for a horse."

"What about you then? Are you a knight?"

"No," Spayar agreed. Gods no he wasn't a knight.

"Then why do you have a horse?"

Spayar laughed, "More than just knights own horses, Duren. You see people not knights on horses don't you?" Duren nodded slowly. "A horse is just expensive, expensive to buy, expensive care for, expensive to house. I'm really lucky to have a horse like mine. But you," he tapped his brother's nose, "will be fine with a pony for today. Once you get better we'll move you to a horse."

"Okay," Duren said, Spayar could see the wheels of Duren's mind turning. But before he could figure it all out Jill was back leading a pony, fully saddled. It was a fairly tall pony, rather thin, with long, narrow, legs, but still many hands shorter than Spayar’s mare.

"Here we are, one of them marshy ponies of LoHaJo'in," meaning it was a Shade horse. They'd bred them from the water ponies who lived in and around the Boggart swamps that took up most of LoHaJo'in province. They were just tall enough to stand above the water line most places and short enough to stay out of the way of the lower branches of the trees in the swamps.

"Thanks," Spayar said and Jill handed him the lead.

"His name's Ollie, he's a good boy," and Jill patted the pony's rump, Ollie swished his tail.

"We'll have him back before lunch probably," Spayar said.

"No rush. Hillsman can take him out as long as he wants, Stablemaster said that."

“Really?’ Spayar asked, raising his brows at Jill.

“Aaaah, not in so many words,” Jill said, grinning a gap toothed grin.

“Great,” Spayar said, half laughing, “Take care of my horse while I'm out."

Jill laughed, "She'll be a princess while she's here," he promised.

Spayar grinned and motioned to his brother to follow him as he led him and the pony away from the stables. "Spayar," Duren asked as they went to a field. Unlike most of the land around the capital the hill the palace sat on was hard ground. It was why Spayar had picked up here and not just anywhere, Duren wouldn't have to worry about potholes or wetland.

"Yeah?" Spayar asked.

"Does your horse have a name?"

Spayar looked up from where he was checking the pony's bridal, "Uh... no," he realized. He'd never named his horse. Three years and his horse didn't have a name. It had honestly never occurred to him.

Duren hadn’t been expecting Spayar to actually agree with him that his horse didn’t have a name. "It doesn't?"

"I guess not," Spayar admitted and looked back on his life choices where he hadn’t named his own horse.

"You should name her," Duren insisted.

"I wouldn't even know what to call her," Spayar said, "I always just call her girl."

"That's a terrible name." Spayar frowned, now he felt weird about it. How had he not noticed he'd never named his own horse? He’d had her for three years. How hadn't anyone noticed? Or what if they had but had felt like it wasn’t their place to point it out? Maybe everyone knew Spayar’s horse didn’t have a name and wondered what was wrong with him. It made Spayar feel self conscious about the entire thing. He couldn’t just go around asking people if they knew his horse’s name either because then if they didn’t know then they would. "You should think of a name for her," Duren said.

"I guess," Spayar said, though honestly giving his horse a name would now be more weird since he was so used to her not having one. "I'll think about it, now lets get you up.” Mainly he just wanted to get off the subject of his horse not having a name and how self conscious it made him feel. Hopefully Duren would forget that they’d ever had this conversation.

He showed Duren how to mount a horse. Duren climbed onto Ollie's back with only a bit of trouble. Spayar handed Duren the reigns and saw that Jill had also given him a long lead line as well. Thanks Jill. "Marshy ponies are really well trained," Spayar told his brother to continue to stay off the subject of his own horse. “So you just need to give it a little nudge to get him going. With your heel... yeah like that," and Duren got the pony to start to walk. "Not so tight on the reins," he said as he let the lead rope out.

"How do I turn?" Duren asked.

"Pull them the direction you want them to go. Not too hard," and Duren did so, the pony started to moved in an arc. Spayar turned as the pony walked and Duren was so focused on the pony it was like he’d forgotten his brother was an absolute idiot.

"Spayar," Duren said after he'd walked the pony in a circle a few times around Spayar, "what's a gelding?"

"It's a boy horse that can't have children."

Duren was paying attention to the pony when he asked, "Like you?"

"What! No, I'm not a gelding," thank the gods he wasn't. He rather enjoyed all his equipment, and all their functions.

"But you can't have children," Duren looked at Spayar.

"I am fully capable," Spayar said, trying not to be irritated. Duren was only thirteen, he was allowed to be stupid. It was surprisingly difficult to not be angry though. "I just won't."

"Cause boys can't have babies?"

"Exactly," Spayar said, "And a gelding is a horse who's been castrated."

"Well what's castrated mean?"

"It means they cut off the balls off." Spayar laughed at Duren's horrified face. His brother looked down at his lap like to assure himself he was still in one piece. "They only do it to horses," though Spayar could think of at least a dozen reasons or crimes that would get a man castrated, and not just the balls either.

"Why do they do that?"

"To make them calmer."

"But what about making more horses?"

"They don't geld all the stallions Duren," Spayar sighed, "and the Shade only gift out or sell gelded marshy ponies, so other places can't breed them."

"Why?"

"Politics, don't worry about it," yeah only Spayar had to worry about that sort of shit. "Try and make your pony go faster," Spayar encouraged to get them off the talk of horse balls. First making Spayar come to the realization his horse didn’t have a name and now horse balls. Something was wrong with his little brother. Duren tapped the pony again and Ollie started to go faster.

They were out there for a while until Duren said his legs hurt. "Owww," he complained as he got off Ollie. "Why does that hurt so much?"

"You aren't used to it," Spayar said, patting Ollie who looked ready for a rest and to not go in circles anymore. Duren was rubbing the inside of his thighs, looking pained. "Lets head back to the stable, I'm sure Ollie wants his lunch," and he started to walk, Duren rubbed for a few more seconds before following.

"You rode all the way from Peonia and back in less than a month,” Duren said, looking at Spayar with something like awe.

"I did," he agreed.

"Didn't it hurt?"

Spayar shrugged, "It's just uncomfortable. You get used to it honestly, from being in the saddle so much."

"Doesn't your dick hurt though?"

Spayar snorted, "Usually the whole area just goes numb before it starts to hurt."

"You've ridden a horse with a numb butt?" Duren cried.

"Yeap," Spayar said, "But I ride all the time. The more you do the less it hurts."

"Oh," Duren looked contemplative a moment. "You're not a knight, right Spayar?"

"Nope."

"Then what are you? You can fight and do magic like a knight and a wizard, but you aren't are you?"

"I'm not a knight," Spayar said, "all magic users are wizards, you know that."

"Then what are you?" Spayar thought about that a moment. What was he? "Spayar?"

"I'm thinkin'," Spayar said as they approached the stables. Jill didn't meet them this time and they entered the building. "Hello," he called. The royal stables were huge and each stall had a name plaque beside the door. Despite that it was easy to get lost and it wasn’t best to wander without a stablehand to guide you. "Hello," he called again, it'd take them forever to find Ollie's stall on their own. He sighed and started down the stall lined corridor, at the very least he could find Ollie's stall. Though he also needed to find his horse. This was probably a horrible idea. Damnit where was everyone?

They walked through the stables to the other side where there was a covered area that led to one of the two large courtyards that stood guard next to the large looping drive at the front of the palace. There they found seemingly all the stable hands, standing back and out of the way. In front of them was a gilt carriage pulled by a team of four, black, horses and standing beside it was a fair haired woman who was yelling at the holsters. Spayar recognized her by voice alone, it was Von's second oldest sister; Obi. 

"What's going on?" Spayar asked one of the stable hands quietly, thankfully Duren had enough sense to be silent.

"Her highness keeps changing her mind about what she wants," they said, frowning. "First she wanted white horses, than brown horses, now black horses, and only females. Something' wrong with the carriage, this or that uhg.” 

"Well... I have a pony that needs to be put away," Spayar said.

"At least it's something to do, what's his name?"

"Ollie."

"Right, I'll take him. You got a horse, sir?” they said and took Ollie’s lead. Meanwhile Obi was still yelling, irritated something wasn't happening fast enough. Spayar hated Obi. Spayar genuinely hated few people, but Obi was one of them. She was just a bitch.

“Yes, she’s a royal breed, light brown coat, white hairs, Jill put her away for me.”

“Ah, I know that one. I’ll bring her here, sir,” and they left with Ollie.

Spayar turned around when he heard Obi crack one stable hand across the face. "Do not talk back to me," she yelled at the man who was now on the ground, hand over one side of their face.

"Apologizes your highness, I was merely-

She stepped on him, stomped was more a correct term honestly. The stable hand cried out, his sound of pain startling the horses. "I said do not talk back to me!" 

"I'm sorry," the stable hand stammered. Spayar knew he shouldn’t intervene. He didn’t really have much to do with the other royals unless they put themselves in front of him. It was less messy and he wouldn’t get to know them and feel bad when he plotted their murder. He was about to turn away and take Duren with him when he recognized the stablehand. He cursed to himself. Of course it had to be Jill. Of _course_ it had to be because Can’dhe liked to torment him. Liked to put things in his way and test his character.

He looked down at his brother and saw his brother recognized Jill as well. What would it look like if Spayar just turned a blind eye? How could he explain to his baby brother that it was better if he didn’t get involved? He couldn’t. Not after Spayar had called Jill his friend. What sort of person left their ‘friend’ to be beat over nothing. He sighed a little. He was about to do something stupid and reckless and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

"Learn to listen when your betters speak," Obi spat made to stomp on Jill again. This time Spayar flicked his hand to cast a spell and caught her heeled foot in mid air with a messy weave that clung to the air on spider silk connections. It did hold her though. She whirled on the stable hands accusingly, fire in her cerulean blue eyes. "Who's doing that?" she demanded.

Nothing for it. He’d started this, he had to finish it. Spayar moved stepped forward, leaving Duren with another stable hand who didn't need to be told to hold his brother back. "Hello your highness," he bowed to her neatly, extending his arms a bit. Anyone watching saw it as mocking but Obi, unobservant as always, saw it as respectful. What she did see was that he didn’t bow nearly as low as he would to Von or even the king. The _king_. Her nostrils flared angrily.

Obi was the prettiest of Von’s siblings and loved the gut, emulating all the most popular styles from there. Obi had long, delicate, golden locks she wore in immaculate ringlets of the Dalicites. Her nails were always freshly manicured and painted like a Nedalian. Today they were apple red with yellow tips. Her bright blue eyes were ringed in Aldashi style liner, the wings conservative like she’d done them herself and was intimidated by them. They weren’t nearly as long or elegant as Tassa’s. Even her clothes were western Alliance with a high hem on her skirt over a pair of lace tights and a bodice that showed off her flat, golden, stomach and pushed her breasts together while keeping her shoulders bare. For the aesthetics she was lovely. Under that gilded facade she was a miasma of stupidity and temper made of methane that just needed the slightest spark to erupt in either spouting off something so ignorant it actually gave you pause, or she’d turn you inside out with a temper tantrum.

"Spayar," she said his name like he was a piece of shit on her shoe, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Keeping you from hurting an innocent man," Spayar said calmly, standing up again. He didn't avert his eyes when he spoke to Obi either, he didn't know how to anymore. Von demanded that Spayar looked at him on level when they spoke.

Obi looked down and sneered at Jill who swallowed. "If I want to it's my prerogative," she said and snapped Spayar's weave holding her leg like he knew she would. This time when Obi made to stomp on Jill Spayar uttered one word and Obi lost her footing and fell ass up on her back. There was a stunned silence in the courtyard. Here Spayar had to play carefully or he’d have a fire on his hands. He wasn’t a pyromancer either.

"That man is under your mother's employ and thus under the protection of the Le'Acard," Spayar said, hands behind his back so no one could see how hard they were trembling. He wasn't angry. He was afraid. He wasn't afraid of much but he was afraid of pissing off someone who could kill him effortlessly was one of them. Von wasn't around to protect him from his sister like sometimes. It was one thing to kill your brother’s best friend when he was alone, it was quite another to do it in front of him. Especially a _d’aelar_. Normally that would make him immune from most attacks by the Le’Acard. Not from Obi. Obi didn’t care. When she was angry or insulted and not handled carefully she’d take on anyone.

Obi stared at him like she couldn't believe he'd really just done that. He'd just humiliated her in front of a bunch of stable hands. "What are you looking at?" she snarled at Jill who was also staring, slightly slack jawed.

"Nothing, your highness," he looked away quickly

She got to her feet and marched over to Spayar. Obi was shorter than him, but it didn't matter, she was like fire. Literally she was fire and was a pyromancer like her brother Von. For a second Spayar thought the tips of her coiled hair sparked and became flame. Not unheard of for powerful pyromancers. "You would do such a thing?" she hissed.

Spayar kept very calm. Obi won when you talked back, when you got angry. He'd seen enough of her fighting with Teldin, Tallalsala and Dellin to know how she was, what she did, how temperamental she was. When Obi started to smolder if you struck back in anger like she did she’d just ignite and you’d lose. It was something that happened often enough and only staying perfectly calm in the face of her wrath would see her be handled out of that spark of rage. “I would," he said. 

"I am a Le'Acard, you would lay a hand on me?" she demanded, fire in her eyes, her breath as hot as a forge on his face.

"I did no such thing-

"You still-

"I simply stopped you from making a mistake," he just talked right over her. The only way for Obi to hear you was to just talk over her.

"Me? A mistake?" she laughed.

"So you would rather me tell the stable master you beat one of his best stable boys and then he would tell your mother?" Spayar asked her curiously.

Obi froze. She hadn't thought of that. Of course she hadn't. Obi was an idiot of the first degree. Of Von's siblings she was the least he was worried about because Obi didn't have the patience or brain power to plan a coup, let alone the temperament to see it through to completion. She might know Tallalsala was meeting with the Clan and Teldin had the White Foot and Wren-Kal in his pocket, but that meant nothing to Obi. It was like telling her there was a particular bad thunderstorm outside. It would pass, as it always did. "My mother?" she asked and it was like Spayar had dropped a block of ice on white hot iron.

"Yes," Spayar said, "Asuras Virilia takes great pride in the horses her stable breeds, and thus those who work there. You wouldn't want her to know you were abusing them would you?" Spayar was talking out of his ass of course. Obi was too dumb to know differently. She believed everything people told her. A temper with gullibility did not make a good match and was how you threw sand over the tinder of her temper. He looked at the carriage, "Didn't you have somewhere to be, my lady?" he asked her rather innocently, switching topics and confusing her by now being worried for her well being and her time table.

"I do," she said slowly, unsure what he was doing or how to react appropriately since just a moment ago she’d been ready to burn him alive.

"I would hate for you to be late," there was a driver already sitting in the seat up front, staring at Spayar like he was crazy. "Since I'm sure it's terribly important if you need to go."

"It is," she said and pursed her lips at him. She hadn't even realized what he was doing. How did Von have a sibling like Obi?

"I'm sure they're waiting for you," he moved his fingers and the carriage door opened, beckoning Obi.

"This idiot-

"Had the best intentions your highness. You really shouldn't worry about such trvilalries," and already Obi had gone from being mad at him for humiliating her to complacent and ready to do what he said. If you didn’t set her off Obi was actually very easy to deal with. It was just she was easily set off. You just had to use a certain tone with her and she cooled down and did what you said once you showed her that yes; you were the boss here, not her. Honestly she was a bit like a dog. If the rumors were true she spent a good deal of time on her hands and knees for anyone who wanted just like one. "Driver," he called, "where are you going?"

"We're going to Mirin, my lord," the driver said. The capital of Kou. That made Spayar slightly uneasy since Von was coming from Kou and speaking with the praetor there. A million possibilities ran through his head about _why_ Obi would be going to the capital of Kou. She had to have a handler, behind the scenes, trying to put her on the throne. If only so she’d be a figurehead.

"That's a long way," Spayar said, “Who are you going to see?”

“The Lady Lenni,” she said. Spayar wracked his brain. Who was the Lady Lenni?

“Well if you don’t leave soon it’ll be too late in the day to make any way down the Westerlance. You wouldn’t want to put off seeing her another day would you?”

“No,” Obi said adamantly.

“Then we should get you on your way,” he said, barely even in the moment with Obi. He was thinking of who the Lady Lenni was. He helped her into the carriage and Spayar closed the door with a pleasant smile. He waved to the driver once he stepped back and the driver, who finally had to look away from his stupefied amazement at Spayar, flicked the reins to put the horses into a trot. Obi would be out of the city before she realized Spayar had manipulated her and she’d told him where she was going and who she was seeing.

"That was amazing," Jill said from the ground. "How'd you do that?"

"I have a lot of practice dealing with Le'Acard," Spayar offered Jill his hand, Jill took it and Spayar hauled him to his feet. Jill wasn't horrifically wounded, but he was a bit battered. "Go to the palace healer, get healed up, if they throw a fuss say I sent you."

"You're right amazing Spayar," Jill said.

Spayar just shrugged, "Go on, me and Duren are for home."

"Right right," Jill said, and dusted himself off a bit. "Thanks," he said again, grinning his gap toothed grin at Spayar. Spayar went back to find his brother, "What you lot standing around for?" Jill cried at the other stable hands, "You gots stuff to do, so go do it!" and they scattered.

Duren was standing with his mare and another man that made Spayar stop dead, the warm feeling of victory over Obi leeching away instantly. 

Teldin was holding onto Spayar's horse and standing next to Duren like it was the most neutral thing. "Your highness," he bowed to Teldin much lower than he had for Obi since unlike her Teldin actually garnered real respect. As with the rest of the past few generations of Le’Acard Teldin was fair and blonde, his hair in last decade’s style of long and slicked back. Unlike some of his siblings his skin was the color of flour and his eyes were such a brown they were practically black. He had mean eyes like an owl's and a long, proud looking face. 

This was the man who threatened Von's life, and thus Spayar's own life; the oldest son of the Asuras. "What can I do for you my lord?" he asked, straightening. As he did he noticed that twined around Teldin’s was a long, leaf green, snake with eyes too smart to be an animal. A shapeshifter. Spayar knew who it was instantly and it put him on more edge than he already was with Teldin’s appearance. Sade was a powerful witch and shifter and practically Teldin’s second in command. She was practically another _Spayar_. Why would she be here with Teldin now?

"That was very impressive," Teldin said, he had the voice of a singer, the type you could listen to forever. "Not many people can so expertly manipulate Obi out of a rage," he said it thoughtfully but also like he didn’t actually care.

"You're too kind, your highness," Spayar said.

"Where's my brother?" he asked.

"Vondugard, my lord?"

"Who else would I ask you about?" though they both knew realistically Spayar probably knew the whereabouts of all the Le'Acard children despite only having been in Assarus a few days ago.

"I don't know. I just came home from Galinsum from my training with the alchemists a few days ago. He wasn't here when I arrived,” he lied.

Teldin put a mean stare onto Spayar but he didn't flinch, didn't move a single inch. "You're a good _d'alaer_ ," Teldin said and cocked his head at Spayar in a very predatory fashion. "But you're wasted on my brother." Teldin knew Spayar was lying. He knew and knew Spayar knew he knew but pushing Spayar to answer would get him no where nor would it actually help him. He was just testing Spayar, like he always did, to see what he could get out of Spayar.

"Your brother takes very good care of me," Spayar swallowed. This wasn't the first time Teldin had approached Spayar about changing his alliances, Teldin and Tallalsala had both done it, since they were the two better players on the field. They knew what it meant that Von had a _d'alaer_ and they didn't. Sinou had had a famous _d'alaer_ who helped him conquer the first realms of the Alliance. It was the opinion of most of the Alliance and especially the Le'Acard that Asuras who had a _d'alaer_ on their sides were more competent rulers, better ones. That they could instill such zealous devotion in someone meant they knew what they were doing. Teldin, Tallalsala and Dellin all hated Von in equal measure they were jealous of him because he had Spayar; his _d'alaer_.

Spayar was the _d'aelar_ of this generation, the first one since since the early eighteen hundreds. His kind weren’t common and there was only ever one at a time. If there were more they’d constantly be compared until one was proclaimed the true _d'aelar_ in the style of the _d'aelar_ of old. The only way to get the benefit of a _d'aelar_ now was to either kill Spayar and get your own or convince him that it was in his best interest to side with them. He’d been on the end of enough threats to himself and his family and promises of the world, stars and everything in between to know that it was serious for the Le’Acard. They knew the importance of his title, what it meant for them and the nobles, commoners and soldiers of the Alliance in the coming Conflict. The greatest Asuri had _d’aelar_. They wanted one too. Unfortunately there was only one Spayar.

"I would do better," Teldin said, "whatever he does for you I can do better.” Not the first promise Teldin had ever given him. “Or whatever he doesn’t do for you,” and Spayar did his best not to just grab his brother and bolt. It sounded like he was being courted and not asked to betray his best friend. Knowing Teldin there was all sorts of meaning behind those words and promises he’d follow up on to get the advantage over his siblings. Spayar did his best to not think about Von like that, let alone his viper of a brother.

"I'm not interested," Spayar said instead, once again putting his hands behind his back so Teldin wouldn’t see how they trembled. He just wanted Teldin to leave him alone. "I am Vondugard's _d’aelar_. His _d'aelar_ I shall stay. As I’ve said before, I want nothing from you, Teldin,” he said. Sade’s body extended out towards Spayar a bit and the human eyes in a snake’s head were reproachful.

Teldin frowned, “You’re sure? Now’s the time to pick sides, _d’aelar_. Do you really want to be one of those who visits a temple of Lemp?” All the hair stood up on Spayar’s body. Most of the time just the presence of a _d'aelar_ by a Le’Acard’s side was enough to rally most of the nation to them and they’d come through and sit on the throne. But sometimes, it wasn’t. The crown heir in question was killed. _D’aelar_ knew they wouldn’t be spared after a Conflict’s close like their donalim. The only way out was to leave the Alliance and never return, leaving behind everything and one you’d ever known, or kill yourself. Since suicide was against their religion and the will of Lemp necromancers would assist people in their suicides. The _d'aelar_ who went to temples of Lemp were a select few, and they all did so out of shame and grief when their best friends, or in one case their lover, had lost the Conflict.

“Careful,” Spayar said slowly, to not betray the hard beating of his heart. “Your dread is showing, your highness,” he said and bowed a little. Sade flicked her tongue at Spayar hatefully and he wondered what the hell had just gotten into him to say that to Teldin’s face. The prince wasn’t the least bit amused.

Teldin dropped his mare's lead and walked away without goodbye. Spayar's heart was all the way up in his throat as he walked away. He lurched forward, grabbed his horse’s lead and his brother’s hand and dragged them away.

"Spayar-

"Later," and Spayar said and stopped long enough to help Duren onto his horse. He scrambled up after his brother.

"But who was that-

"Duren," Spayar said sharply and kicked his mare into a canter to get away from the stables. “Not. Now.” He looked over his shoulder but didn’t see Teldin. Thankfully Duren didn’t ask any more and Spayar could focus on putting as much distance between them and the Palace as humanely possible. It was of course this time, when Spayar felt the stress of Teldin and the Conflict on his shoulders, that he remembered that Lady Lenni was the name of a the High Priestess of Belladha, goddess of wisdom. What a stupid thing he’d think of now and what a pointless person was going to see. Spayar didn’t know if he was more annoyed with himself for knowing who Lenni even was, or for thinking about that instead of the fact that Teldin had just promised him if he didn’t join him that he’d make sure Spayar visited a temple of Lemp.

He really hated the royals.

 

 


	11. Trickster's Gold

Most kingdoms, even the Federation, had seven days in a week. Spayar had heard of one with six, but it was far north and across the Sea. The Alliance had eight, five weekdays, weekends, and then Asumsest. Created by the tenth Asarus after Sinou, Asarus Miirina had been a frightfully busy woman and had conquered most of the north eastern lands of the Alliance, dragging the little kingdoms into the great empire. She'd worked seven days a week without break, and instead of taking one of those days off she'd simply declared that the week now had eight days so she could continue to work seven days a week and still have a day of rest. Asumsest was a mandatory day of rest for centuries and while most people did still practice it it had mostly become just a normal day, though if you missed work that day it was illegal to be fired over it since it was also a day of nationwide worship. Most treated it like a day off in the middle of the week.

Assuras' streets were clogged with people, even with the drizzle and the gray skies overhead. Spayar's mare- Blossom, Honeypot, Minera, Maplehoof, Comet Fall, or whatever his siblings had decided to call his horse for the hour- plodded along beside Spayar in his leather jacket, not happy about the rain but too mellow to be upset by it. Calli, Anora and Duren were all sitting on her back and she honestly didn't even notice. Though there was no room for Spayar. His mare seemed content to just walk beside Spayar, who held the lead attached to her bridal as they walked.

They were going around the long way to Swan Island. Instead of just going through South Garden to Tradesmen and crossing the bridge onto the island Spayar was going around to the less densely populated Smoker's Den district. Smoker's Den was a place few people lived and instead was jammed with inns, bars, gambling dens, smoke houses, brothels and fighting pits of all kinds. It was the place people went to in Assuras to spend money. This time of year the district was quiet, because of the rains, so the streets were easier to navigate than South Garden.

"Are we almost there Spayar?" Anora asked.

"Soon," Spayar said even as they left Smoker's Den and into the long, skinny, district of Tradesmens. They couldn't see Swan Island from here, but they would soon. "Who are we visiting first?" Spayar asked them.

"I want to visit Can'dhe," Anora claimed.

"Yes, Can'dhe," Calli agreed quickly.

"Awww, I wanted to visit Maldrin first," Duren complained. "Spayar-

"We'll visit Maldrin too," Spayar promised. Honestly his siblings didn't go to Swan Island that often because their parents never went. Relora and Spayar sr. had a different system of belief than the Alliance and they didn't visit temples. They instead had shrines to their gods and personal gods in their own homes. Of course all the gods were the same, it was just the places and names that changed. "We need to buy some offerings when we get there," Spayar said, "So keep an eye out on what you want to offer to the gods."

There were five bridges onto Swan Island, two of them through Tradesmens, two through Swan Box, and one through Middleton, and they were all needed on Asumsest as the busy city went to worship their gods. Spayar headed for the western bridge in Tradesmens, his horse's hooves heavy on the wood that constructed it. The two bridges on the north end of the island were drawbridges to allow tall ships through and usually lifted one after another. On Asumsest they were always down to allow for faster traffic flow.

Swan Island was a small piece of land and the buildings were arranged in three concentric circles and the closer the temples were to the central circles the more important the god or goddess. Shrines for lower gods dotted the island between the temples and out in the park. On Asumsest not even the shrines were ignored and all of them at the least had bouquet of flowers laid on them, or a bushel of grapes. The Asuras paid for offerings to every god, even the lower ones on Asumsest, since it was basically their weekly holiday. People walked amid the temples with brightly colored umbrellas and packs and baskets containing their offerings. Spayar was looking for the common stable he could leave his horse for a few bronze while he and his siblings went to pray.

He found the stables and some holsters helped his sisters and brother down while Spayar arranged for his mare to be wiped down, fed, and kept dry. He was given a red chip with the number nineteen stamped into it and told to show it to whoever was on duty when he was done and his horse would be saddled and returned to him.

His siblings were waiting under the awning just outside the stable, Anora and Calli with their umbrellas down though ready to lift and open if needed. "Okay," Spayar said, going over to them, "Can'dhe first?" Anora and Calli nodded quickly. "What are we going to buy for her offerings?" he asked as he started down the gravel walkway. Wooden covers had been erected at the start of fall to keep the walkways mostly dry, the wood painted bright colors. Of course the walkways were so full of people that it was just easier to walk outside of them.

"Sugar floss," Calli said.

"Candy for Can'dhe?" Spayar laughed.

"Well she does like sweets," Anora said.

"We'll see if we can find some sugar floss," Spayar promised. "And what are you going to get for Maldrin, Duren?" Spayar asked his brother.

"I brought this," Duren held up a small knife, "I made it. I hard Maldrin likes things you make yourself."

"Well he is the god of craft so that makes sense," Spayar said. They came to an area that had been sectioned off in the grass, and stalls had been set up. There you could buy anything imaginable. Little figures, rocks, precious stone, flowers, pots, herbs, jewelry, incense, food, trinkets of all shape, size, variation and price, all of them meant to be offered to the gods on Asumsest. Spayar stopped his siblings in front of a shrine dedicated to some hunt god Spayar didn't know but he looked like one of the stag headed men of Rosalia lore, though he merely had antlers, not the full stag head. 

 "Hands," Spayar commanded and his siblings all held out one hand. He dropped a silver atrin into each of them. "Buy whatever you want for who you want, but you must me back here by the bell," which was in about forty minutes if the graceful clock tower near the center of the island was to be believed. "If I have to go looking for you there will be consequences. Calli you won't be able to go to Tallasala's naming day party. Duren, no more riding lessons. Anora no more alchemy."

"What?" Calli cried, "But Spayar-

"Be back here by the bell," he ordered. "And spend your silver wisely," he added. She puffed her cheeks out at him, a trait of annoyance he knew she'd picked up from him.

She sighed, "Yes Spayar." Then she opened her blue umbrella, "Do we have to stick together?"

"No. Just be back here," he said.

She looked at her siblings and then stepped out from under the wooden awning. "Calli, wait," Anora called quickly and made after her, opening her own umbrella as she entered the drizzle.

Duren looked at Spayar then at the silver atrin, "But I have my offering to Maltrin," he said.

"Do you want to see any other god?" Spayar asked. Duren thought a moment, then he nodded. "Then go on, find something," he waved his brother away. Duren left, hesitating before entering the light rain with just his hat and leather.

Once his siblings here gone Spayar also left and headed deeper into Swan Island, towards the central circle. There were six temples in the main circle. The brothers Ancieon and Lemp, gods of the life and death, the goddess of fate; Can'dhe, the god of the sky; Perunez, the goddess of the earth; Galaia and the goddess of the sea; Tipal. Between the temples of Ancieon and Lemp was a shrine for a rather minor god that was Spayar's personal god. He sort of practiced both religions, the one he was raised in in the Alliance, and the ones his parents practiced. He had a personal god but unlike his parents' personal gods there was no shrine for him at home.

Densinn was not a kind god but yet appeared in many stories of the gods especially around the brothers Lemp and Perunez as one of the first gods they wove into being along with Can'dhe, Perunez, Galaia and Tipal. Densinn was the god of language and had been the first one to utter a word and whisper it into a human's ear. He'd taught humans to speak and write create sign language. He had a gold and poison tongue that spoke truth as often as it spoke lies. He'd been the first thing to lie, the first to fool, as much as the first to sing and orate. Once he'd been a powerful god like Perunez but earned the brothers' ire because of his lies and tales and his promises to teach dogs and fish to talk like he had their precious humans. So the brothers had ripped out his tongue, sewn his mouth shut and chopped off his hands so he could never speak again.

There was only a single pot of flowers in front of Densinn's shrine and it looked like it had been there since last Asumsest. Densinn was not a god most people wanted to associate with. He was seen as a trickster god, dark and cunning who would lead you down a path you didn't want to go down. Spayar hadn't chosen him as his personal god so much as he'd dreamed about him when he was a boy. A haggard man with eyes like fire, bloody stumps for hands, and a mouth sewn shut. Densinn had chosen him. Spayar was sure to give Densinn offerings whenever he could since he was not a god to anger, even though he was now just a minor god who many forgot. The shrine was a statue of him without hands, hunched over his knees, his mouth open in a sort of snarl. You could see where he'd broken the stitches across his mouth to try and speak, as he did so many times in stories, though he had no tongue and thus nothing flew from his mouth.

Spayar pulled a golden atrin out of his pocket and with a bit of effort used his natural magic to shape it into a golden tongue. Natural magic dealt with the elements, turned a wizard into a mage and everyone had a natural alignment to an element. Spayar's was metal (funnily enough. He'd have been one hell of a smith if he'd been allowed to stay on that path) a lesser, rare, weak, element off of earth. Spayar was not a great mage, he was a better wizard since his line of work required him to do little in the realm of working with metal. He'd had to use in Galinsum but never to any real purpose other than knowing the exact weight of metal or metal powders.

He put the golden tongue into the statue's open mouth and just stood there. He had no real kind thoughts for Densinn, though he did feel sort of bad for him. He blinked as he swore the tongue he'd made moved a little, like Densinn was ready to waggle it and start singing. Then the thought passed and it was just a lump of gold given shape. "Don't let me fail," he told Densinn, "or when the necrells come I will take this golden tongue back," and that was all he had for his personal god and left. He felt people looking at him as he walked away. It was why he'd gone and done this on his own. You didn't just go and pray to Densinn, and he didn't want people to see his siblings with him while he did.

He walked through the grass between the temples, across the circles and back to the temporary market and entered it. He didn't bother looking for his siblings, they still had twenty minutes to meet back at the shrine of the hunt god. Instead he went to a flower vendor and bought a large vase of flowers he'd have delivered to the temple they were destined to in half an hour. Next he went and bought food. A stack of cakes made of expensive maple syrup and puffed wheat, dried until they were hard as rocks and would keep forever.  He also bought a jug of wine, the jug's sealed with a wax stopper. Once he'd bought those things he went back to the hunt god's shrine and waited out of the rain.

The bell started to ring and in less than a minute three dark skinned faces emerged from the crowd. Each of them had their offerings, and Calli had found sugar floss, Spayar could see that someone had woven a thin weave around it to keep the rain from ruining the delicate floss. "You find everything you wanted?" They nodded, "Change," he held out his hand.

"But Spayar," Anora complained.

"It's my money. Change," he ordered. Calli dropped a single copper into his hand, and Anora a few bronze. "None?" he asked Duren.

"I spent it all," Duren said.

"Okay. So, lets go see Can'dhe," Spayar said and led his siblings back out into the rain. Calli helped shield Duren from the rain with her umbrella. They arrived back at the central circle. "This one is Can'dhe's," he said. The entrance of her temple was already piled with flowers from worshipers and the offerings inside were neatly organized against the wall by what they were, food, jewelry, flowers, whatever. There were a lot of people in the temple which was no surprise, Can'dhe was the goddess of fate and destiny and fortune. You prayed to her when you wanted something to happen.

His sisters went up and left their offerings, Calli the sugar floss which the priest took to put in a tree made to hold bouquets of flowers, and Anora some little box that was laid out on the alter. Spayar hung back a bit while his sisters prayed. "You don't want to pray to Can'dhe?" he asked Duren.

"I don't want things to change," Duren said.

Spayar nodded, "I agree," he said. Then someone tapped him on the elbow, it was a girl and behind her was a man holding the vase of flowers he'd bought. He took the vase from the man, it was heavy, but not too big or ridiculous, and went to the alter. His sisters gave him annoyed looks since he'd bought such a huge, almost gaudy, bouquet of flowers.

He pressed his thumb and middle finger of one hand to each of his cheeks, his pointer finger going to the middle of his forehead and closed his eyes. It was the traditional sign of worship of the Dirinnan, the triad. Spayar took practices he liked from the Dirinnans religious practices and the ones from the Alliance ones and just sort of did whatever. He looked clearly Dirinnans though so no one asked him if he knew what he was. doing. Of course he did, his parents had been strict about how they practiced for a few years while Spayar was growing up but sort of given up when Anora was born, since Spayar and Calli were both learning the Alliance way. His siblings only practiced the way the feylon did.

Hand in place Spayar sent a prayer up to Can'dhe, the placement of the fingers was supposed to amplify your prayer, or at least make it seem bolder. 

Can'dhe, he thought, I hate you and love you for putting me on this path with Von. But since you've put me here and wasted so much effort on making someone as insignificant as me important to a Le'Acard at least make it pay off. Don't let me die this spring. Don't let my friend and the man I love die. Please. Or if you do, don't let me live long enough to see his body, don't be so cruel.

He opened his eyes and removed his hand after he felt he'd spent enough time standing there and the moved out of the way for someone else to pray to Can'dhe. His sisters were waiting with Duren, out of the way of the rest of the people. "We done here?" They nodded, "Who next?"

"Can we visit Ancieon since we're in the first circle?" Anora asked.

"Yes," he wanted to visit Ancieon too. "After we'll see Maldrin," he promised Duren who looked annoyed they weren't going to see the god he wanted to see.

His siblings followed him as he left the temple of Can'dhe and headed for Ancieon. Can'dhe was next to Lemp's temple and Ancieon was on the other side of Lemp's. Compared to Can'dhe Lemp looked barren and unvisited. It wasn't that their god of death was a bad god, he was also the god who took care of souls between each reincarnation into the Bright Lands, it was just few people other than the Rosalia felt the need to worship him properly. It was probably why he'd created the necromancers, so someone would devote themselves to him when no one else would.

As they walked between Ancieon and Lemp's temple Spayar spared a look at Densinn's shrine and nearly tripped over his feet. The statue was changed. No more was he merely hunched over his knees, now he looked like he was about to stand up, and his mouth had changed from an open mouthed snarl to an open smile, the golden tongue he'd made licking up at his upper lip. The statue seemed to look right at Spayar and he realized one of Densinn's eyes were closed as if in a wink. He swallowed. So his god had heard his prayer. He didn't know if that was good or bad honestly. But Densinn was watching him now, and a god like Densinn expected a show.

Spayar looked back at Lemp's temple as he felt something creep down his spine and swore he saw a woman with red eyes standing next to a ghostly doe, looking right at him. Their eyes met and Spayar felt ill and he smelled rotting flesh. Then someone moved in front of him, when they passed out of his field of vision she was gone like she'd never been. When he looked back at Densinn's shrine the statue was back where it was supposed to be, hunched over his knees, snarling at whoever stood before him, Spayar's golden tongue sitting limply in his mouth.

"Spayar," his head jerked at the sound of his name. His siblings were standing at the entrance of Ancieon's temple, looking back at him and he realized he was standing in the rain like an idiot. "You okay?" Calli asked worriedly, holding her blue umbrella tightly.

Spayar swallowed and it felt like there was something thick and cumbersome in his throat. "Ye-yeah, I'm fine," he swallowed compulsively and looked back at Lemp's temple. There was no one there except someone going in to pay their respects. Shivering horribly Spayar turned around and went over to his siblings. "It's nothing," he said. He gave the statue of Densinn one last look and he swore it was winking at him again, he turned around quickly and got out of sight of his personal god.


	12. What Sharp Teeth

They'd made good time to the LoHaJo'in province, despite the autumn rains. Mali had no complaints though. DiSol was, at the least, an easy companion. Like most lonths he didn't have a lot to say when it wasn't important he speak. Instead he just rode his pony next to Mali's horse, his pony often outpacing Cherry Blossom, but he was easy to be around since Mali preferred the silence when riding, not needing to fill the air with idle chatter.

"How much further?" Mali asked DiSol, they were a few weeks on the road now and Mali wasn't used to riding this much. Thankfully DiSol never said anything no matter how many times she needed to stop and rest her legs.

DiSol looked around like he was seeing things she couldn't, "Just over the rise," he pointed ahead of them.

"Really? I haven't seen any difference in the area," since usually the land around the larger houses was littered with farms and small towns. There was nothing like that here.

"Towns aren't allowed near the compound," DiSol said, "It would give us away."

"But this is your country-

"To pirates," DiSol said, "they're really bad in the south. Also to some Black Foot tribes who still aren't happy about us being in the Alliance, forget the fact that it's been almost six hundred years since the nations came together to get peace and rank over so much fighting between themselves and the Alliance."

"So you keep the location secret?" DiSol nodded, "I've seen it on maps."

"Approximations. Usually they're about fifty to a hundred miles off. Only a lonth can find Disumackera Adolakala," he said.

"DisAdo?" she asked, he nodded, though the name, short or long, didn’t tell her what it meant.

They traveled the rest of the way in silence. Mali watched the countryside. She rarely was away from Assuras, having been born there and other than to go to Mur for her final tests as a mage and healer and receiving her medallion she didn't often leave it. Going to DisAdo made her appreciate how beautiful her country was though, how diverse. LoHanJo'in was no different and as soon as they'd entered the province it had been freakishly obvious. 

While not a particularly large house or province compared to some others LoHanJo'in contained the cold marshes and swamps of the Black Foot people and their shamen who had a name but Mali couldn't really remember. She had a memory for healing and the micro politics swirling around Assuras, and like her body her mind rarely concerned itself with things outside Assuras. But she did know that while relatively small the Shade were incredibly powerful because of the very specific niche they'd carved out for themselves that made them valuable assets to not just the Le'Acard but also the other houses who might want their services. They were secretive about it though and she supposed it did make sense that they hid the true location of their compound. She'd never even seen pictures of it.

"We're here," DiSol said when they topped the rise, pulling Mali from her musings, "DisAdo."

DisAdo was not what she was expecting. It looked like a Kal-Wren complex made of interconnecting buildings but was clearly not. DisAdo was made entirely of dark stone or wood with a large, central, building, fully enclosed roads jutted off the building like the spokes of a wheel and other, smaller, buildings were connected to it. There were no windows, or if there were Mali couldn't see them. At the end of each spoke was a larger building, though not nearly as large as the one in the center. A wall made of white rocks surrounded DisAdo, tall enough for a horse to jump over but the top was lined with outward facing spikes to catch their stomachs and gut them. She didn't see a gate.

"My," Mali said.

"Surprised?" he asked and started across the plain the rise had led up to.

"Yes. Is everything fully enclosed?" DiSol nodded, "Why?"

"It gets very cold here, and technically children are not allowed to leave our walls, so we simply made everywhere within the compound. So they can go home, see their parents, get away from the center if they want."

"But not leave," Mali said softly.

DiSol looked at her, "Do not judge our ways. Our children are important to us. We keep them close to protect them until they have the skills to deal with the world outside. Better than how most of the Alliance treats their children and thrusts them into the world when they're barely off the tit."

"I guess," she said as they came up to the white wall. Cherry Blossom didn't like those spikes one bit and neither did she. DiSol turned north and started to head along the wall, Mali following. They reached a small, normal looking gate. DiSol got off his pony and opened it.

Mali rode through and sucked in a sharp breath, tugging on the reins to get Cherry Blossom to stop.  As soon as she'd passed through the gate she felt dozens, if not hundreds, of spells suddenly blossom into life and press against her. They were like tracking dogs and sniffed her, inspecting her, to see if she posed a threat. She held very still, gripping the reins so tight her hands hurt. She felt all the weaves they brushed against her. Ones to see if she was Black Foot, or Shade, or feylon or fed. Ones that saw if she was a wizard, or a mage and if so what sort of mage. Ones that knew her sex and body type. There were some that did things she didn't even know because they all touched her so briefly she could only catch a few. She realized all of this was to determine if she was a threat or not and under the sniffing weaves she could feel a powerful death spell hovering around her neck like a noose.

Then all at once all the weaves lifted and she could breathe again, she sagged a little in her saddle. "Sorry," DiSol said, "I should have warned you about the wards," he frowned a little. "They can be overwhelming to another mage."

"Did they do it to you too?"

"Briefly. Once they determine I wear a Shroud it leaves me. You are new, the wards needed to know you."

"How many spells was that?" Mali looked at the air, which just previously had been teeming with magic so thick you could choke on it and even someone without training would have felt it.

"I don't know. Now and then they reinstall some, to keep them fresh, but they don't unweave the old ones. C'mon, the stables are over here," he rode his pony past her towards one of the buildings off the spokes, not at the end, but attached to the side.

Up close she saw this building had windows and she could hear the ponies. A stable hand came out to get their horses, but even this stable hand wore a Shroud she had wrapped around her head like a turban. They handed off their horses and DiSol told them to take good care of Cherry Blossom and deliver her bags to his apartments. Mali followed DiSol as they went through the other door in the stables that led to the covered roads. The road was gravel and there were windows here too, but they were very narrow and really they weren't windows at all, but slits in the walls for an archer to stand behind and shoot out of.

"We don't normally have guests," DiSol said, like he was apologizing as they starting walking down the road towards the central building, "So we don't have guest quarters."

"Then where will I be staying?"

"I have spare rooms, you'll be staying there," he looked at her and said quickly, "You won't be roughing it I assure you and will have absolute privacy, even from me," since while DiSol was not a stranger she did not consider him her friend either. Mali staying in DiSol's rooms was nearly inappropriate.

She sighed, "Very well. Where are we going now?"

"To see my father. I sent a message ahead of us that Hillsman had sent you with me. I'm sure he's eager to meet you. After we'll get you settled, and probably food, since it's getting close to dinner."

"Sounds good to me," Mali said and the rest of their journey, like their way to DisAdo, was passed in a comfortable silence.

There was no door in the wall rather DiSol muttered a word and a portal sprung to life, showing through the wall to the other side. Mali was surprised a moment before reminding herself that the Shade had the highest ratio of gifted people of any singular house. And that was to say, all of the Shade were gifted. Even more than the Wizen conglomerate which contained both alchemists and synthetic magicians, the Shade contained no ungifted people.

She followed DiSol through the portal and it closed behind her. While there were no windows here the Shade weren't as gloomy as their dark outer walls or their name would suggest. In fact the inside of the central building was made from white and golden wood and some wizard had spelled the ceiling to mimic the natural sky so there were clouds and she suspected sometimes even birds. The interior was simple, but warm, and while she thought it would feel claustrophobic without any windows she was glad to be wrong. 

DiSol led her down the main atrium, passed several hallways to one he turned down. As they did a group of children no older than five filed out of a room. A lonth who was clearly their teacher stopped when he saw DiSol, "DiSol-sai," he bowed to DiSol, the children bowed as well.

Mali looked behind her as they walked pasted the children, DiSol barely looking at them. "What is sai?" she asked once they were a bit away.

"Honorific, because I'm Shade," DiSol said, "We're almost there."

"Good," because while she wouldn't admit it or want to complain, least of all to DiSol who was painfully fit and in shape, her legs starting to ache since the walk here had not been a particularly short one. Mali wasn't in good enough shape for this and she had more weight around her stomach than she liked and she was getting tired,

DiSol knocked on a door with the carving of to reared horses on it. A healer answered the door and while they didn't wear the usual, green, healer uniform or headdress Mali recognized them instantly for the red cloth mask that hung around their neck. "DiSol-sai," he said when they saw DiSol, then they spotted Mali, "Who is that?"

"Mali Thralluk, she's a healer."

"Your father has enough healers."

"Don't make me push the door open JaGul," DiSol said and it was the first time Mali had ever heard DiSol angry, or annoyed really. He was normally so much more level headed. The healer, JaGul, opened the door, "Leave us," DiSol ordered.

"DiSol-sai I don't think-

"I said leave us. If my father needs a healer while we're here there is one here," and really she didn't understand why DiSol sounded so angry.

JaGul looked at DiSol with a frown, "Yes, DiSol-sai," and he scuttled out.

"Who was that?"

"JaGul Adolshade," he sighed, "The son of one of our underlords. He's a competent healer, I guess, but is more important than he should be because my brother likes him. He's been my father's main healer for months now."

"You don't like him," Mali said mildly.

"He thinks he is above himself. The only reason I haven't simply thrown him out is because CoLan wouldn't be pleased with me," but DiSol rolled his eyes to show just how much he really thought of his brother's opinion on the matter. "But enough, my father waits for us," and he led her to one of the back rooms of the Shadow Lord's apartments. "Father," DiSol called as he eased the door open, "addabu."

"Disa Solavnkua?" and DiSol opened the door to come in, Mali followed. Well now she knew what DiSol meant, not that it did her much good since she still didn't know what it meant. Same with DisAdo. She made a mental note to at least learn some rudimentary Jhasta to try and unravel it. No doubt that task would get lost amid all the other myriad of projects she started but never finished.

When Mali walked in she was taken aback by what she saw, what she felt in the air. The entire place reeked of sickness and the Shadow Lord LouSai looked aged beyond his years. The Shadow Lord was only about fifty but he looked closer to seventy or eighty, the skin on his face was thin and sagging, his eyes were huge in his head and deeply sunken into his skull. She'd seen the Shadow Lord once or twice when she was younger and he'd come to an important event Asuras Virilia had thrown. 

She remembered a man who while not very tall was lean and muscular with sleek back hair tied into a topknot, his skin had been tight and ruddy, almost the color of red clay, and his eyes dark and sharp. He'd worn nothing but his Shroud, which fit to his body tightly so it showed that not only was he naked but also that he had no weapons and clearly didn't need them. He'd been powerful and fierce. The man before Mali now was not the same Shadow Lord she'd seen them. He was a ghost here, thin and frail, his hair thinned but still there, most of his power leached out by sickness.

"Shadow Lord," she bowed to him.

"This her?" LouSai asked his son as DiSol went to his father's bed and took his hand with more gentleness and care than Mali knew DiSol had.

"Yes addabu," DiSol said, "the _d'aelar_ sent her. Mali Thralluk."

LouSai smiled thinly, "Come close Mali, the healers assure me my malady isn't contagious," he said.

Mali came forward, she was no stranger to the sick and wasn't repulsed by him or how he looked like he was falling apart. He offered her his thin hand and she took it. His bones were thin in her fingers and in a moment she pushed her magic through his body. It was worse than she'd feared. His skeleton was literally falling apart, the cartilage on his joints were practically non existent and his bones were so thin and frail that if he tried to stand he'd break his own legs. Mali had never heard of such a disease that could atrophies the body like this.

"Are you in pain Shadow Lord?" she asked him.

"Not now, no. JaGul eased them before he left."

"Good. I would slap him if he made you sit in pain from your ailment," and LouSai blinked at her a moment and then laughed. His body convulsed in a way that was revolting as he laughed. "I'm glad to see you're still alive. Spayar was wise to send me."

"Do you know what's wrong with me?" LouSai asked her.

"No," she admitted but she had an idea. She didn't like it but it seemed like something that could be possible. "You have my word though that I will make you well," she squeezed his hand reassuringly though it seemed madness that a girl like her would be reassuring the Shadow Lord that she would heal him.

"I trust you," LouSai said, "I've met Spayar Hillsman, he's a man who does not do things idly. He would not send you if you couldn't help."

"Thank you for your faith, Shadow Lord," she bowed her head and looked at DiSol a moment, he was looking at his father sadly, it was the look of a man who knew he would watch his father die and suffer the burden of his passing. "I think it is best you rest now, my lord," she said gently, "Would you care for a dreamless sleep?"

"No," he said, "for in my dreams I am still able bodied as before."

"Sleep well, my lord," and she whispered the spell to send LouSai to sleep. "I need to see my things," she told DiSol as soon as his father was out, "and I need an apothecary-

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" DiSol asked.

"I may. I want to start treatments immediately. If it is what I fear it is it is very good that I came with you. Your father suffers from a body that is eating itself, starting with his muscles and bones, specifically the bones. He's literally falling apart."

"But you can help him?" DiSol asked, looking hopeful.

"Yes," Mali said, "Now show me where I'll be staying and to an apothecary."

"Follow me," DiSol said standing and leaving the room, JaGul was waiting in the hallway when they left. He narrowed his eyes at Mali and her stomach rolled. She wanted to be wrong, but she wasn't sure.

She turned away from JaGul, not giving him even her time and followed DiSol down the hall. It was a few doors down to DiSol's apartments and he showed her into the room she would be staying in, it smelled like it had once been a storage room but there was now a bed, a dresser, and desk in it. Simple, but she could stand it. Her bags were at the foot of her bed.

"What do you need at the apothecary?" DiSol asked as Mali put the bags on the bed.

"I need to look at something," Mali said opening her bags and started to rifle through them. She threw clothes onto the bed haphazardly, not minding the DiSol was still standing right there. "Ah," she said when she found it. To the normal sight what she'd uncovered looked like a silver bracelet, with a single ruby charm hanging off of it. What it was was much more. Vondugard had given it to her when she turned sixteen three years ago and only told her what it did a month later. She tugged off her left boot and put it on the bed.

"Mali, what is that? What are you doing?" DiSol asked.

"Don't you worry about it," Mali said and wrapped the bracelet around her ankle. She preferred it down around her ankle to keep it out of the way and so when she handled dangerous things or blood it didn't get contaminated. Once she clipped it into place she put her boot back on. "Now," she said, taking her foot down and grabbed one of the many red masks in her bag, "take me to the apothecary."

"There are several in DisAdo," DiSol said.

"Is JaGul your father's primary healer?"

"Yes."

"I want to see his apothecary," she said.

DiSol frowned, "I can show you the public one he uses but as a healer he has access to all our herbs and no doubt has his own personal collection."

"Just show me," Mali said. DiSol nodded and left, Mali following.

"Also this is yours," he handed her two keys as they walked, "The bigger one is for my apartments, the smaller one is for your room. The Shade apartments are warded against intruders and spying so if you ever need privacy you can have it."

She took them, "Thank you," she said and was thankful when the apothecary wasn't too far.

"This is where most of our healers or poisoners get their herbs. Things marked with white are lethal," DiSol said showing her a room filled with shelves lined with little bags or containers with cork stoppers as well herbs hanging from the ceiling to dry. A warm, dry, wind moved through the entire room and Mali tested it against her magic to see if it was fake. It was and the weave was spun by a man sitting at a counter writing in a book while studying a bushel of wolfsbane.

"Haver'in," DiSol called and the man looked up, Mali saw the edges of his Shroud, worn as a cape, come up a bit like it was ready to spring into a shield or a sword.

"DiSol-sai," he bowed where he saw him, "m'lady," he added to Mali. Haver'in was in his forties and whip thin with sinewy muscles and a blonde beard shot through with white. He put his pen down, "What can I do for you?"

"This is Mali, she wanted to see your apothecary."

"Ah. Well, what do you need satsun?" he asked her, she didn't know what satsun was but it didn't sound insulting. She had to assume that while DiSol stood next to her no one would insult her, which was a good thing to keep in mind.

She went over to his counter and looked at what he was doing briefly. What she'd thought was writing was actually a drawing, a nearly perfect recreation of Wolfsbane in ink. "I'm here to treat the Shadow Lord," she said, "Do you mind if I just... look around?"

Haver'in looked at DiSol then back at her and nodded. Mali drifted away and started to look. Everything was alphabetized and every container had the contents printed clearly on the side, pouches had slips. There weren't just herbs here but also mushrooms and fungi and poisonous leaves. She picked up a vial of semi clear liquid. "Careful with that," Haver'in called to her. "Cottonmouth venom," she made a face and put it back quickly. Despite an apothecary usually being a place of healing the Shade were master poisoners and kept their dangerous stuff here too.

She came to a shelf full of pouches and vials all with little white tags on them, marking them as lethal. They all had names but she didn't know what any of them meant, that was troubling. She'd have to find out what all these poisons did. Near the end she came upon an empty space on the lethal shelf.

"What goes here?" she asked Haver'in, pointing to the empty spot next to two small jars, one red, one clear.

"Lemp's Kiss," Haver'in said, "it is nearly instant death for someone who ingests it."

"Where is it?"

"I only make it when someone needs it, otherwise I fear it would be misused," Haver'in asked, leaning on his counter.

"When was the last time someone asked you to make it?"

Haver'in thought a moment, "CoLan-sai asked before he left for the swamps. He took it with him," and for some reason that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end. Something felt horribly wrong but she didn't know what exactly. Everything here felt so off but exactly why she couldn't decided.

"How much?"

"Small vial," he held his thumb and forefinger apart a little, "Enough to kill a hundred people," she swallowed.

"Thank you for letting me see your apothecary," Mali said.

Haver'in shrugged, "It is open to all our healers," which was to say; not Mali.

"I've seen what I need to," she told DiSol. DiSol nodded, bid his farewell to Haver'in and guided Mali back to his apartments.

"Should I call for food?" DiSol asked when they got back.

"Yes, that's fine," but Mali was distracted and went to her room, she closed the door in DiSol's face but barely noticed. She was too caught up in her own head. That Lemp's Kiss sounded terrifying, and she had seen what she'd been looking for in there. That didn't mean she was wrong though. 

Mali found some paper on the desk and sat at it, taking off her boots and the anklet. The ruby was glowing brightly now, like there was a fire inside it. She put the anklet on the paper and like it was wet the ruby made a damp spot on the paper. Vondugard had told her the ruby was flawless and had been magicked to record any spell that touched it, or her, so long as she wore it.

The dampness turned red as she croaked the word to activate it. It worked in reverse from the last spell that touched it, which was the one Mali had used to activate it. Then it went backwards and some spells were strings of words of an academic wizard while others were a mage's doing and more a collection of feelings or long explanations of what the spell did. Mali was still amazed her prince had given this to her as a gift when something like this was so expensive she couldn't even begin to think about it without feeling guilty.

Finally the ruby stopped transcribing with it's red dampness, which would stain the paper or whatever it was on red after it had dried up. Mali frowned at what she saw. The list was horrifically long. As usual she started from the bottom. It started when she'd entered DisAdo and she skipped over most of them since they'd been harmless enough, except for the death spell but that one she purposefully didn't look at. The next ones were when she walked out of DiSol's rooms and it made her pale and then go green.

She burst out of her room to find DiSol sitting and going over a message. "DiSol," she said and went over to him.

"What?" he asked, concerned.

"Look at me through magic, tell me what you see," because she couldn't do it herself, no mirrors in this place. DiSol frowned but did, his black eyes widened at what he saw.

"What the hell is that?" he demanded, getting to his feet.

"Someone is really unhappy I'm here," she said and she felt DiSol touching the weave around her head lightly with his own magic. It was a death spell, though unlike the one that had touched her when she'd entered the compound this one was like a bear trap and was poised to snap closed over her head. Touching it too much would alert the one who'd cast the spell and tampering with it would make it snap shut, killing her and probably bursting her head like a grape.

DiSol looked furious, she thought he'd been angry at JaGul, but no, that had been annoyance compared to this. It changed his entire being and made his Shroud bristle with spikes. "You have my word, Mali. I will find out who did this and they will not have peace," he growled.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I can barely use magic with it. It's dampening me as well, that's why I didn't feel it."

"I'll see if we can get someone to remove it," he said, his voice still tight. "You are a guest here and I cannot believe one of my men would do this to you."

"I don't blame you."

"Thank you, you are kind and more understanding than I."

There was a sharp knock on the door, "DiSol-sai, I have your meal."

DiSol made himself calm down before going over to the door. A woman in a Shroud came in and wheeled in the food, DiSol told her to leave and she did without question, she also didn't even look at Mali. "I don't want this to be wasted breath but, you should try not to think about it," DiSol said.

"I'm trying not to," she said, swallowing, still feeling sort of ill.


	13. Orange and Black

"What do you mean you never named your horse?" Von asked after Spayar told him about giving Duren riding lessons and how his mare had no name, still had no name.

"I never named her," Spayar sighed.

"Spayar, she's literally the best horse money can buy. How did you not name her?"

"I dunno. I just forgot I guess."

Von sighed, "You can remember the name of every lord and lady in the Alliance and can keep up with all my family's mad schemes; but you didn't name your own damn horse."

"Sorry! Anceion's dick I didn't think it'd be such a big deal."

"You're absolutely hopeless," Von gave him a pitying look.

Spayar scowled at him, "Don't forget who got us here when you forgot the way," Spayar reminded him and motioned to the valley. The entire valley of Dodorum was home of the Drake. The province was comparatively small to others and full of mountains but nearly every inch of the province was used to grow their main export and produce; citrus. The groves of oranges made a clear dividing line between Dodorum and the two that bordered it and they were forbidden grounds to all but the Drake.

"I would have gotten us unlost," Von said sourly.

"Yeah? How? Asked for directions? From who?" Spayar challenged. Dodorum had no cities and only a few small towns, because most of the province was taken up by huge mountains.  "Or maybe the wyrmlings?" Wymlings lived in the citrus groves, protecting them from greedy hands who tried to seek to break the Drake's monopoly on the fruit. The small wyrm-like creatures stayed in the trees during the day but came onto the roads at night and unless you were marked a Drake they'd attack you. As such Dodorum had more road houses than other provinces.

Von slouched in his saddle, annoyed. "I would have figured it out," he grumbled.

"So you see, I have way more important stuff to think about than the name of my horse. Besides, she's fine. Right girl?" and he patted her neck, his mare nickered and jogged her head up and down. "Doesn't even know she doesn't have a name."

Von frowned, "Fine," he rolled his eyes. "Are we almost there then?"

"Yeah, it's that mountain," he pointed at the closest one, "This road should take us right to the front doors."

"Good, cause my butt is getting sore," Spayar laughed at that.

It was another two hours of riding for though the mountain was indeed the closest one it always was a gigantic mountain and distance was skewed against it. They did, at last, make it to the mountain though and followed the road up it to a metal door pressed into the rock. The door was free of ornamentation save for a great knocker in the middle in the shape of a wyrm's head. Two men stood outside the door, chatting, at ease then they saw Spayar and Von.

"Who goes there?" one called, raising his hand and they drew their horses up.

"Prince Vondugard," Spayar called back, motioning to Von, "And I am Spayar Hillsman. We're here to see our friend flighter Diylan Rasten of Drake."

The men looked between each other, "You have proof that you travel with who you say you are?" one asked. Von turned his head so the side faced them and tucked some of his hair behind his ear, revealing the distinct point. The flighters on guard stiffened, "Apologies your highness," they said and he turned and grabbed the big knocker. He banged it in a certain sequence. The door groaned a sigh as it was heaved open a moment later. "Welcome to the Wyrd, your highness," the guard said as Spayar and Von walked their horses through the opening. Von nodded and the door closed behind them.

Inside it was dark and lit by red lights. Spayar had only been to the Wyrd one other time when Von had decided he'd wanted to visit for the Wyrm Lord's daughter's birth. A first daughter, but a second child since no one was foolish enough to come to the birth of a first child who was a girl unless it was a Rosalia to call the necrell to take them away. 

At the end of the hallway into the mountain there were men to take their horses before they entered the central cone of the Wyrd. Most of the mountain was in some way hollow and the central cone was a great shaft that ran up through the entire mountain to the sky. When they left the tunnel it was light out and Spayar glanced up, the circle of sky was blue as could be. At the bottom of the cone was a large ground filled with hot sand, warmed from underground. A ring had been cut around the bottom of the cone for foot traffic and two long, spiraling, staircases ran up the entire length of the cone.

Down on the first floor the walls were covered in mosaics of orange groves and the sky, the ground paved in circular designs. Spayar had to admit, though there were no real buildings in the Wyrd the place was still beautiful and covered in the wealth of the Drake.

"So, Diylan?" Von asked as they stood for a moment under the cut overhang of the central cone. "Which staircase is he again?"

"The red one I believe," Spayar said since the staircases had the front facing side of each step painted red or blue and where they joined was purple. "Two curves up?"

"Why don't you just stop acting like you don't know exactly where he is?" Von grumbled, Spayar grinned, "You're completely insufferable."

"Come along my princeling," Spayar chuckled and started for the red stairs. At each landing there were huge grooves cut into the rock and Spayar knew they weren't there for decorative purposes. Climbing stairs sucks, as he and Von were currently reminding themselves, so it was just much easier to get your wyrm to fly up to your landing, grab on, and climb off, than to have to walk up the stairs to your landing.

They were both out of breath and Spayar's legs were sore when they reached the proper landing. No matter how in shape you were stairs were still rough, especially with how many they'd just climbed. "Show off," Von grumbled as across from them on the blue staircase a wyrm landed on the wall, great claws digging into the wall, and their rider sliding off and other the landing without incident. They then opened a portal and the wyrm crawled in and was gone.

Spayar chuckled, "C'mon, we're almost there," and he went into the tunnel on the landing. Here the lights were rather bright and clearly magical in nature, growing brighter as people neared them. They walked down the hallway, along the curve of the mountain, to a door. Spayar knocked. No answer. Spayar knocked again, louder this time. Von gave him a look and Spayar checked to make sure he was at least in there were magic, just giving a brief courtesy inspection of the room and yes, Diylan was indeed in there.

"Well?" Von asked.

"He's in," Spayar banged his fist on the door. "Diylan, open up I know you're in there," he yelled.

There was a moment and then the door opened. "Who the hell is- oh... you two," Diylan wasn't wearing a shirt and barely wearing any pants.

"Did we interrupt?" Von asked though with the air of someone who really didn't care.

Diylan gave Von a look, "Yes actually, you were," he said irritably. "But the royal family doesn't care if they bother the common people do they?" Diylan was the only one of their friends who gave Von the same amount of shit Spayar did. Diylan wasn't afraid of Von like most of their friends were, even if they didn't realize they were. 

"Nope," Von said, "We require you now and they can wait."

Diylan gave Von a look, "You know when people normally tell me that sort of stuff they're usually promising me more than a hard time. Unless you're up for that," and Von rolled his eyes. "Didn't think so," Diylan looked at Spayar, "What about you junior?" he asked.

"I'm far too good for you Diylan," Spayar said though he wasn't quite how truthful he was being. Diylan was hot, tall and huge with pale white skin, green eyes, copper hair and more freckles than you could count. He was also one of those guys who went back and forth on what who he liked sharing his bed. Slightly annoying since he was like a child who couldn't decide which candy they preferred.

Diylan leaned against his door frame, Von now completely forgotten. "That so?" he asked, his green eyes gleamed with challenge. "And who's to say that, hmm? Too good to lower yourself to some flighter?"

"More I don't like easy men," Spayar said.

Diylan smirked, "I can be hard for you Spayar-

"You two," Von interrupted, looking slightly mortified as he realized what his friends were doing. "Can you not?"

"Awww? What's wrong Gard? Don't like me encroaching on your territory?" Diylan asked.

Von actually flushed a little, "I don't need to watch you two flirt," he said irritably. Spayar rolled his eyes a little.

"Ah... seems your lord doesn't like the idea of you having any fun junior," Diylan said.

"Oh lay off Diylan. He's only sixteen and still a boy," and once more Von looked totally mortified, even if it wasn't true. Girls practically lined up to be with a prince. He and Diylan laughed. "Okay that's enough fun at our prince's expense," Spayar said.

"Yeah yeah, come in, I'll get dressed," Diylan moved out of the way and they went in, Von trying to control himself better but it was nice for Spayar to remember that Von was barely a man. There was a small sitting room in the front and half a wall between it and the bedroom. "Get up love, got more pressing things to attend."

"What? But we were-

"I'm quite aware what we were," Diylan interrupted her, "But I have important guests. So get dressed a see yourself out," and Diylan was pulling on clothes. Spayar and Von sat while he was talking.

A minute later a woman came out from behind the half wall, dressed, and glared at the both of them. She wasn't really pretty but had huge breasts. Diylan was way too predictable. She left the room in a huff, slamming the door after her. "You sure know how to pick 'em Diylan," Spayar called.

"She's not my wife, so why should I care?" he called back and Spayar heard leather moving against itself.

"She could have been," Von said, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Diylan came out from his bedroom, "Please. I might be easy but I know how to keep myself sonless if at all possible."

Von looked him up and down, "Quite a thing that. A flighter who doesn't want a son. You sure you're a Drake?" he asked.

"Children are horrendous little monsters. I'll gladly save myself the trouble of ever having one," Diylan made a face and finished buckling his thigh length flak jacket before falling into the remaining chair gracelessly. "So, what do you two want? You didn't come all the way from Assuras for a personal call. If you had I would have gotten a letter demanding I come to the capital," and Von smiled a little. At the very least Von didn't make friends with idiots, say what you wanted about their habits in bed.

"One is I need to speak to the Wyrm Lord-

"Good luck with that."

"It's important."

"Yeah, what about?" Diylan said and picked at his nails. "Jollen doesn't make idle chatter with princelings."

Von scowled at him, "I am planning a coup," Von said.

Diylan stopped picking his nails and turned to Von. He put his elbows on his knees, face serious. "Come again Gard?" Diylan said.

"I'm planning a coup," Von said, "Teldin and Tallalsala and Dellin are also making preparations. Forces are being mustered. If I wasn't here one of them would be. Unless they have been?"

"No," Diylan said, "None of your siblings have come to the Wyrd."

"Good. The I need to speak with Jollen."

"About what?"

"A mutually benefitting alliance for us," Von said.

Diylan leaned back in his chair, looking huge and menacing with his flak jacket and jet black eyes save for the circles of pale green. Diylan was not a skilled fighter, instead his skills were in desk work, which he gladly did. Diylan was one of the apprentices of the Overseer and a potential successor. A man who obeyed only the Wyrm Lord they knew everything about everything in the Wyrd. As a junior overseer that meant Diylan knew more about everything than normal flighter. "What did you plan?"

"I'll discuss that with Jollen-

"You will tell me," Diylan said. "The Wyrm Lord only meets with people who have been cleared by the overseers. Prince or not you are still a man."

Von scowled, "I want his assistance in my coup. For his cooperation I'm prepared to make all sorts of promises for when I'm Asuras."

Diylan looked at Von, then Spayar. "You know about this?" he asked Spayar. Spayar nodded. "Who else is on your side?"

"Galinsum, the Shade, praetor X'vazior and his army."

Diylan appraised Spayar, "That's all?"

"So far," Spayar didn't mention the Rosalia. No need to start a conflict.

"You're lying about someone," Diylan said, "You're a good liar Spayar I'll give you that but I'm supposed to tell the good liars from the bad ones. Who else have you gotten?"

Spayar thought quickly, who the hell could he say instead of the Rosalia? If the Drake knew Von was already friends with Helida not only would they not agree to joining with them but they might also get thrown out. "Lord Addling," Von said, and Von didn't look at him until Diylan did.

"Why would you omit Lord Addling?" Diylan asked.

"It's not official," Von said. "He has agreed to nothing, so we aren't counting his number, but we want him."

Diylan looked contemplative, steepling his fingers, and looked at Spayar again, Spayar made his face unreadable. "I'll get you a meeting with Jollen," he said.

"Thank you," Von said.

"Don't thank me yet. Jollen likes your mother. He might not take kindly to you proposing a coup."

"How's your crop this year?" Von asked.

Diylan blinked slowly and looked suspicious, "Why do you want to know?"

"You know my mother isn't going to help you," Von said. "Trade is still regulated to the normal limits on importation across our borders. Your oranges looked lackluster this year. I've heard from other cities that their harvests are so bad they'll have to ration it this winter if they want get food imported in the quantity they need. My mother needs to die, the sooner, the better, for the entire Alliance. If I don't do it my siblings will. We won't let our people starve because of our mother."

Diylan gave him a look, "... You have a point," he conceded. "Was that all you came to the Wyrd for?" he asked.

"Haven't seen you in a year or so," Spayar put in.

"Well, two years on you," Diylan said to Spayar.

"I was in Galinsum."

"And you didn't even write. How rude," and Spayar laughed.

"I wasn't going to waste ink on you," Spayar said.

"That hurts junior."

"Hurts what? That icy thing in your chest you call a heart?"

"I'll have you know my heart is the only thing that is icy," Diylan gave him a look.

"Ahg! Stooop," Von cried and covered his eyes. "Anceion's cock, please stop flirting," he said miserably.

Spayar and Diylan laughed, "I think your little princeling needs a taste of what its like," Diylan said.

"What? What what's like?" Von demanded.

"He's really rather stupid sometimes isn't he?" Diylan asked Spayar.

"He only lost his virtue last year, cut him some slack," and Von looked mortified that Spayar had just said that. He'd told Spayar that in confidence when he'd visited Galinsum.

"Spayar!" he cried.

"What?" Spayar asked him, grinning, sometimes it was too much fun to have a laugh at Von's expense, especially with Diylan around. It was, effectively, like having two of them around and while sometimes Diylan annoyed the hell out of Spayar they were very alike and both of them knew how to poke Von without actually pissing him off. Von frowned deeply at him.

"And what I meant was," Diylan continued, having the decency to at least not laugh, "that Spayar has to suffer through all your flirting, I don't see why you can't suffer through his," Spayar gave Diylan a dark look for that. Spayar wasn't sure if most people were just stupid or obvious but of their friends only Diylan really noticed Spayar had a thing for their prince. It would be just less painful for everyone if Von didn't know though since he'd make it weird and awkward. "Unless, you know," Diylan quirked his head at Von, "you're some sort of homophobe."

Spayar barely reacted fast enough to grab Von's arm when he lurched out of his seat. Diylan looked surprised by such a reaction. "I can take a lot Diylan," Von said, voice hard "But don't ever insult me like that again," and he tugged his arm out of Spayar's grip. "Now go get me that meeting with Jollen," he ordered. Diylan swallowed a little, looked over at Spayar and then got out of his seat. He'd never seen Diylan slink in his life, but right then Diylan positively slithered out of the room, just to get away from Von.

"Von-

"Can you believe him?" Von cried once Diylan was gone and turned to Spayar. "Accuse me of being that. You're my best friend," his voice quieted quickly after his initial outburst. Spayar just looked up at him, honestly he didn't know what to think himself. Diylan had been pretty out of hand there. "And I don't care who the hell you, or anyone takes to their bed. But by the gods there is nothing worse than watching Diylan flirt because he's a slimy creep."

Spayar grinned a little, "I'll agree with you on that," he said.

Von looked contemplative for a moment, "You-" he paused, hesitant. "Would you? With him?" he asked awkwardly.

"Uh..." Spayar said, "I don't think so. I make it a point not to sleep with friends," because he tried not to honestly, he did make some exceptions though.

Von deflated a little, "Okay," and he sat down abruptly.

"You alright Von?" Spayar asked him.

Von looked at him, "I just... don't think you should sell yourself short. You're too good for him."

Spayar laughed a little, "Von, the last thing you need to be worried about is my love life-

"Well I do! Sometimes," he hunched a little, "I just want you to find someone who makes you happy," and Spayar was so stunned he couldn't speak. "You don't really... like anyone and sometimes I get concerned."

"Neither do you," he pointed out.

"I'm a prince," Von said, "and... too young right now to think about that," he swallowed. "No one wants to be with a prince," true enough. Everyone attached to princes or princess were usually cast aside after the coups, the ones who didn't die fighting for their prince or princess usually never dealt with politics again, or went near the capitals. It was better, because they would never bend to another Asuras. Some of them went to a temple of Lemp in their grief and shame to be cleansed, those that did never came back out. "You could still be something without me," Von said.

"No," Spayar said, "I couldn't. Because if you go to the Shadowed Lands I'd be in front of you. Because to get to you, they'd have to get through me first," Spayar said in a hard tone. He wasn't fooling around. Whoever wanted to kill Von would have to kill him first, because he wouldn't let any hard come to him so long as he drew breath.

Von sighed, "Thanks," he said quietly. "Now when the hell is Diylan getting back? I need to see Jollen."

—

When the Wyrm Lord agreed to see them Spayar was cautious. Of course he was. It was no secret that Jollen liked Virilia, and at least thought her competent, or perhaps more he thought her benefitting. He was waiting for them in his office but didn't stand when Von entered.

"Your highness," Jollen said when Von stood before his desk. There were no chairs, everyone who came here was expected to stand.

"Wyrm Lord, I trust your fairing well-

"I didn't agree to a meeting of pleasantries, boy," Jollen said harshly. "I am a busy man with a busy house and many things to do. Get to what you want and then you may be on your way."

Von swallowed, he hadn't been expecting Jollen to be so harsh. The man was like a wolf, his hair a shimmering silver with black shot through it and his eyes ice blue inside black scleras. Every feature on him was sharp and lean and he didn't have a scrap of fat on him. Sitting down he didn't look too big but like most flighters Jollen not only reached six foot, he excelled over it. "I'm sure you can hazard a guess why I'm here," Von said.

"The same reason Dellin wanted to speak with me."

"Dellin's here?"

"No. But he tried to speak with me regardless. Then he insulted me and made me very upset."

What was with the Le'Acard children and pissing off noble houses lately? Spayar didn't understand. They should know better, but it seemed like all they were doing was misstepping. He hoped Von didn't misstep. "I'm not my brother," Von said.

"Well I certainly hope so," Jollen said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

"Do you like my mother, Jollen?"

"She has her uses," Jollen said.

 "And what are those?"

Jollen smiled a small, wolf, smile, "That would be between me and Asuras , your highness."

"I want your help Jollen," Von said, "You're not stupid, I would never accuse you of that. You know why I'm here and what I want from you."

"The Drake, are not interested," Jollen said.

"I can offer you things Jollen," Von said.

"And what when you die, little princeling?" he asked. "I was a boy when your mother took the throne and I saw what siding with the wrong side did to my father, to my house. My father sided with her brother-

"Who should have been Asuras and you know it," Von said.

"Of course he should have. Only the weak take the leftovers," Jollen said, "but your mother is Asuras now. I like your mother, because she is weak. The Drake offer nothing in these schemes. We want, nothing."

Von bit his lips, he sucked his teeth a moment in thought and then said, "Not even be on the same field as the Rosalia?" he asked.

"What do those bitches in the west have anything to do with it?" Jollen growled.

"Helida is on my side," Von said. "She doesn't back the weak either. When I win she'll have played a valuable role in helping me claim my throne. Do you want to be cut out by them?" he asked.

Jollen's eyes narrowed, "Tell that slut of Lemp to go to hell," Jollen said.

"I'll be sure to. And maybe when she retaliates against such slander I'll just... look the other way," he turned his head a bit like he was thoughtlessly averting his eyes.

"Are you threatening me, boy?" Jollen asked.

"Of course not, Jollen," Von said. "But when I am Asuras it will be Helida with me. I've never known a Drake to let a necromancer get one up on them," he said and Spayar didn't look at Von, though he wanted to. Von was out of his mind right now. He'd just threatened Jollen, one of the most powerful men in the Alliance. And beyond that he was baiting the man. "You've been rough on the Rosalia since my mother decided she liked you better than them. I doubt Helida has forgotten, or that she'll be kind in her retaliation."

"You'd threaten me with civil war?" Jollen said.

"I threaten you with my life hanging by a thread," Von said, "I am not my siblings. I am Vondugard Le'Acard and let me tell you; I live up to my name," now Jollen swallowed. The hero of old, Vondugard, had been Archon and personally led every battle of the Asuras that had claimed most of the eastern provinces. He'd been relenting and ferocious and showed no mercy to his enemies. "You are either with me, Jollen, or you are against me. Which is it so I know if i need to keep wasting my time in this tiny province out in the middle of nowhere. If so, when I'm Asuras you can stay here and rot for all I care. So what is it Jollen?"

Jollen stared angrily at Von, "If I join you I want assurances," Jollen said.

"Name them."

"We'll think about them," Jollen said. "When the time comes you'll have your answer. In the meantime I want you out of my Wyrd."

"Fine. I want one of your flighters to accompany me home," Von said, Jollen's eyes narrowed.

"Fine I'll assign-

"I want Diylan," Von said, "a junior overseer, you won't miss him."

Jollen's mouth went thin. "Fine," he said through grit teeth. "He will be ordered to stay out of the affairs of the Le'Acard," though Spayar knew Jollen saw what Von was giving him. With Diylan with them he'd have a constant eye and ear on Von to report his doings, and Von would gain a protection of a flighter. Diylan wasn't a good fighter, but most people didn't know that, all they'd see was a flighter, a warrior mounted on wyrm back, standing at Von's back. "Take him and get out of my Wyrd."

"We'll be in touch Jollen, I'm sure," Von bowed a little to him. Spayar was caught off guard enough do that as well. Then Von turned on his heel and walked out. Spayar took one last glance at Jollen and then followed after his prince.

"Have you lost your mind?" Spayar hissed once they were outside Jollen's office and headed for the offices of the Overseer.

"I got what I wanted," Von said dismissively. "I don't care if Jollen does or doesn't back me," Spayar grabbed Von's arm.

"Excuse me?" he asked, turning Von to him. He lowered his voice, "You don't care?"

"I wanted Diylan, that was all. And I wanted Jollen to know that he'd better start picking sides. The Drake can't afford to be bi partisan," Von said quietly.

"And you thought the best way to do that would be to piss him off?" Spayar rubbed his forehead.

"Told me everything I needed to know, and got my Diylan. Everything went exactly as planned," Von said, pleased with himself and started to walk towards the Overseer office.

"Yeah, plan you didn't tell me," Spayar said, watching him go but didn't follow.

Von stopped and turned back to Spayar, "I don't tell you everything Spayar. Just like you don't tell me everything."

"Not about this," Spayar hissed. "This is our lives. You tell me everything."

Von looked at Spayar, "I do what I have to." Spayar glared after Von as he continued towards the Overseers offices. "Come along Spayar, we need to tell Diylan the good news."

Spayar grit his teeth and followed after Von because he was too good a friend to keep this up.  "And what's that?"

"That he gets to go to Assarus, and," he added this with a look, "he gets to go to my sister's naming day," he grinned a little. "If we're lucky he'll get into her bed and give her some vinerial disease-

"Von please, have some class," Spayar sighed. "She's more likely to give him one," and Von had to cover his mouth so he didn't laugh too loudly.


	14. Let's Start a Riot

It was raining in Assarus, no one was surprised and not even the city was grumbling about it. Winter was a breath in the air and some mornings the previous night's rains had turned to slick ice on the roads. Thankfully it rarely snowed this far north, which was good or the entire city would be constantly blanketed in snow. 

Spayar was making his way through the streets, keeping under the awnings, dressed in his leathers and spout brimmed hat to channel water down behind his back. The city was buzzing about Talasalla's naming day celebration in a few weeks time. Preparations were already underway for it. Spayar had heard from a dozen sources all the things the princess was doing for her twentieth naming day. Extravagant food, pounds of smoking material of all manner, dancers, a band, entertainers, and she'd ordered five cakes- one to be in the likeness of herself. 

He'd also managed to get his hands on the guest list by doing things he'd rather not repeat even to himself. Sometimes he really was a bastard.

He was headed for Swan Island to meet Von. It was Asumsest and the island was filled with people. He'd left his siblings at home though they'd begged him to let them come. He'd told them no. A Le'Acard on Swan Island wasn't a good thing. Just their presence would make the people go crazy and then them leaving might even start a riot. The feylon were passionate people and passionate about their rulers, especially over Virilia's children. It was no grand secret, even to the commoners, that a coup was coming. Rising food prices made that clear. Change was in the air.

Spayar found Diylan standing in front of a carriage in his thigh length flak jacket and hat similar to Spayar's. He was armed and waiting. "There you are," Diylan said when he saw Spayar. "Took you long enough."

"I walked," Spayar said, slightly offended.

"No horse?"

"No way I'll be getting her out of there with Von here," Spayar said. He still hadn't named his horse.

"True," Diylan frowned.

"You try to talk him out of it on the way here?" Spayar asked, they were standing a few feet away, Von couldn't hear them.

"Until he told me to shut up or he was going to take my medallion," Diylan frowned.

"He was bluffing. Princes don't have the authority to strip rank unless they're actually a ranking member of the military," Spayar said and gave the carriage door a look.

"Really? I'll keep that in mind. Well, no need to keep him waiting," and Diylan took a few steps back and opened the carriage. "Gard, Spayar's here."

"Finally!" he heard Von cry.

"I walked give me a break," Spayar said as Von stepped out of the carriage. He was dressed finely but not in leathers or waterproofing. Instead he'd created a magical bubble around him that reached all the way to the ground. Rain ran slickly down it in little rivers, showing the contours of the magical umbrella. It was a gross display of magic and power since the spell didn't pop when Diylan waved his hand through it meaning Von was manipulating the spell on the fly to allow larger objects, like Diylan's hand, through, but not the rain. "Really?" Spayar asked, raising his brows.

"I don't like getting wet," Von said, pursing his lips.

"Whatever," Spayar sighed, "So, shall we?"

"Yes. Jill, wait here till we get back," Von said to the driver and for the first time Spayar noticed that indeed, the driver was Jill. His carrot red hair was covered by a hat to keep the rain out, though he and the horses were under an awning.

"Course your highness," Jill nodded. "Enjoy the island, sirs," he said.

"Lets go," Von said and started across the Tradsman's bridge.

No one noticed them at first, but Spayar knew that'd change soon. The three of them were conspicuous, a flighter, and a man dressed like only a prince could dress, they wouldn't go unnoticed for long. They headed for Anceion's temple first. "I'll be right in," Spayar told the others and dodged away to their confused looks. He went and found Densinn's statue.

"I don't have gold this time," Spayar said, taking out a silver atrin, "saving it for my little sister. Sure you understand. You know I love her more than you," and he quickly pulled the coin into the shape of a tongue. He fit it into Densinn's mouth. He swore he felt the statue move, like the mouth was going to close, and jerked his hand back. "Don't play tricks on me Densinn. I'm one of the only people who pray to you anymore," the statute was silent. "That was for the silver wasn't it? Or for Calli?" the statue, of course, said nothing. "Gold next time, and some oranges if I can get them," he patted the statue and then retreated back to Ancieon's temple.

Von and Diylan were at the alter, praying. Because of how Spayar practiced he didn't need an altar like the feylons did, his body was his alter. It was always a good idea to pray to Anceion, so he did, sending out a quiet prayer like a whisper, his hands down by his side.

They left Ancieon's temple and did the circiut the major gods. Or that was the plan. They were leaving Perunaz's temple when someone finally noticed Von. "Your highness." they said and bowed to him. That was the catalyst for suddenly everyone noticing Von.

"Dilyan," Spayar said quietly to the flighter. He nodded and kept himself at Von's back as people started to move towards them. They all wanted to see the prince, maybe touch him if they were lucky.

Von smiled softly at his people and extended his hands, breaking his shield, towards them. People grabbed them held his hand and then he'd pull them away for another. Spayar had to bully the crowd to keep near the prince.

Shouts started soon enough, people wanting to see the prince, know which one it was. The crowd started to crush forward, hands and arms and bodies flailing forward to snag Von's skin or clothes. The royal family rarely went anywhere without escort that kept the common people back because if they didn't this happened. Von didn't seem to mind though and just kept smiling and shaking hands and saying hello and kissing woman's hands. He was enjoying himself and basking in it. Spayar just kept close and a sharp eye on the crowd. Diylan stood behind Von like a guardian, his black and green eyes intense.

The rain started to come down harder, larger puddles started to emerge but the people didn't stop. "What's it look like up there?" Spayar asked Diylan who could see over the heads of the people.

"Just a continuous mass," Diylan said.

Spyar frowned. This many people in one place was going to break something. Von was funneling people across him but it wasn't a perfect system. People were starting to get backed up. He knew something was going to snap. "My lord," he said, "we need to go."

"It's fine," Von said, shaking the hand of a fisherman.

"No,  we need to go," Spayar said, "Before someone gets hurt or there's a riot."

Von turned and looked at him, "It's fine," he told Spayar firmly. Spayar pinched his lips annoyed. He knew not to say anything else. He wasn't Von's handler, he had one of those- not that you'd ever know- so if Von told him it was fine he couldn't do anything until it wasn't fine.

He didn't have to wait much longer. After nearly twenty minutes of peace something in the middle of the mass of people snapped. Someone got hurt and in moments a roar of discourse went up. People started shoving and crying out and were shoved back. People got thrown to the ground and Spayar saw it going sideways. "My lord we have to go," and the crowd was roiling back and forth, pushing and shoving.

"Spayar-

"It's going to turn into a riot."

"It's going to be a riot if I leave," Von said.

"The police will deal with the riot. We need to leave," Von opened his mouth to protest, "Do you trust me or not?" Spayar demanded. "If we don't leave this will get worse," and the yelling was becoming louder and angrier.

Von frowned and looked at all the people who were still trying to touch him, or at the least lay eyes on him. "Fine," he sighed.

"Diylan, cut us a path," Spayar told the flighter. He could have used raw magical power to shove people aside, but the wedge needed to move such a dense crowd would have exhausted him, and would have tired Von out too. 

Diylan's eyes went totally black and above them a portal rimmed in purple fire opened. It was a bit larger than a man and while he wasn't calling his wyrms he was calling something that would get people to move in a hurry. A wyrmling slithered out of the portal. The length of three men it was like a snake with front legs and a set of leathery wings. It was the color of steel and had shimmering rainbow colored wings.

The people around them drew back instantly from the creature with it's iguana shaped face and piercing black eyes with white pupils. It raised itself up to its full height on its front legs, well above the head of the crowds, and trumpeted. Everyone knew what a wyrmling was. They were attack summons of the flighters. Too small and frail to ride but they happily attacked and feasted upon humans without proper control. 

Diylan was tightly controlling this wyrmling to slither around them before heading for one of the bridges. People leapt out of the way of the wyrmling that flicked its purple forked tongue out at the people and the three of them quickly followed. Now the crowd wasn't fighting. Instead it was just trying to get out of the way. Spayar put Von between him and Diylan and they made their way quickly off Swan Island.

Once they were free of the crowd, which was sort of following at a distance, Diylan opened up the portal once more and the wyrmling vanished through it. Spayar kept Von moving so he didn't stop and try and pull that stupid stunt again. Von pouted nearly the entire way back to the carriage.

Spayar climbed in after him and Diylan told Jill to go once they were all inside. "Are you stupid or something?" Spayar demanded as Jill took them back to the Winter Palace.

"Did you just call your prince stupid?" Von asked.

"Yes. I did. You... you idiot. You had to have known that would happen! You can't just walk around in public Vondugard. Especially not now when your mother has such low approval from the people. They're all expecting you and your siblings to do something."

"I was doing something," Von snapped. "None of my family gives a shit about the commoners-

"Neither do you," Spayar interjected.

"I may not but at least I know how to manipulate them," Von said icily and that took Spayar a back. Diylan rose his brows at Spayar and then looked at Von in surprise. "An Asuras can't just win the throne. The people need to love them as much as the houses. If the people aren't happy then neither are the nobles and they plot and scheme to put one of your children on the throne. I may not care about the commoners but I know I need them."

"You jeopardized all of us with your dumb stunt," Diylan said.

"I figured you'd be on my side," Von snapped.

"I'm on no one's side Gard," Diylan said, "I am a witness to the Drake. If I'm on anyone's side I am on my lord's side. I'm just stating the facts. What you did and you leaving is going to spark a riot. You were out there, with them, they know you care. None of the Le'Acard has shown that they care in a while. Love is a powerful emotion, and using it as a weapon is dangerous. Next time think about what will happen if you do something like this again."

Von wasn't looking at either of them. He stubbornly had his head down. Clearly he didn't like being chastised by the two of them, much less because compared to him in rank they might as well have been soldiers without medallions. But they were his friends and unafraid. Mali would have never spoken to him like this, or any of their other friends. "The police will handle whatever little riot there is," Von said softly. "Now that's all we'll say about it. I know what I'm doing."

Diylan looked at Spayar, only glancing at Von, "I certainly hope so, Gard," he said.

By the time they arrived back at the Palace news had already spread of a riot starting on Swan Island. The alarm bells tolled from the top of each of the police precients, telling everyone to get inside because of a danger to the city. They rang during riots or heavy rains when flooding was possible. Blue clothed messengers left the Palace in a flock as the carriage stopped in front of the Palace, some got onto horses others just ran down the drive towards the city on foot.

"Stop looking at me like that," Von told Spayar and Diylan sternly.

"You mean like holding you responsible for your actions as a prince and an adult?" Spayar asked and Von scowled at him.

"Don't talk to me like that," Von said.

"Okay. From now on I will only talk to you like a child since you seem so intent on acting like one."

"I have it under control," Von said.

"Of course you do, my lord," Spayar said.

"Spayar if you're going to be annoying, then you're dismissed," Von said.

"Fine. I need to go make sure this riot you started doesn't catch my family," Spayar snapped. "Diylan, try and keep him out of trouble, unlikely though that might be," and Spayar left the two of them on the steps of the Palace. Jill was still there with the carriage and he got in. "Jill, take me to Bellringer."

"Yessir," Jill said and Spayar didn't miss how uneasy he sounded. 

Spayar didn't even look at his friends as he left, he was too angry with Von for doing something so stupid and juvinial like this just for a political move. His siblings wouldn't miss this. Tallasala, Teldin, and Dellin would know what Von had done and would see it for what it was. A ploy to gain the favor of the people and a direct attack towards them. Viliria would know too. Nothing good would come of this and not just the riot. 

Spayar clenched his fists in frustrations. What good did it do Von to have a _d'aelar_ if he didn't listen to them? 'Zealous servant' he might be but every _d'aelar_ in history had been more than that. Von was forgetting that and treating him like he did any of his servants of late.

He looked out the window of the carriage as they entered South Garden. Swan Island was the lowest part of the entire city, within the lake. Through the buildings and down the slick roads he could see the island and the people. The bells were still going and he could sort of see people on the island. Somehow Spayar thought Densinn would be pleased. Densinn loved tricks and loudness and chaos.

"Thanks a lot," Spayar muttered and looked away from the direction of Swan Island.

The riot was mostly contained to Swan Island and probably Swan's Box but that didn't mean Spayar wasn't worried. It didn't take much longer to get to Bellringer and Jill stopped right in front of his father's shop. "Thanks, Jill," Spayar said as he stepped out and into the rain, which wasn't coming down as hard now.

"O' course," Jill said and tipped his hat at Spayar.

"Tell your mother I'm going to require her services soon," he said.

"She'll be happy to have them," Jill said. Spayar headed into the forge and Jill flicked the reigns to urge the horse forward. 

His father's forge was still going despite the bells and the rain. Spayar took them in for only a moment to assure himself Duren was there before going around to the house. His mother was in the living room, sitting and working on patching one of his father's shirts. "Where's Calli and Anora?" Spayar asked, startling his mother.

"Oh! Spayar, I didn't hear you come in."

"Sorry," he said, "Where are Calli and Anora?" he asked again.

"Upstairs," she said. "Why? What is it? A flood warning?"

"No," Spayar said, "there's a riot on Swan Island. I just wanted to make sure they were inside."

"They're safe," she assured them and got up. Spayar sagged a little when his mother held his arm. "You don't have to worry so much about us," she told him.

"But I do," Spayar said softly. "Because I worry about everything."

"Oh sweetie," and she hugged him. He hugged her back tightly. "I know you have a lot to worry about. But I assure you, we're fine. Nothing is going to happen to us. They don't care about us, they care about you," and Spayar was sure his mother didn't really realize how dangerous that was. They cared about Spayar because he was a threat and close to a crown prince. If they wanted to get to Von an easy target would be Spayar because of his family who were basically defenseless against just about anything someone who wanted to hurt Spayar could throw at them. His father was a decent swordsman, he'd done his mandatory military years in the Alliance, but none of his family were wizards or mages or summoners or could protect themselves really. Their vulnerability was his biggest worry and fear.

He said none of this to his mother. He was only seventeen, he shouldn't have to worry about his family's safety unless it was his own children. Instead he just squeezed her and excused himself to go take off his rain gear and lie down.

Upstairs there was an envelope on his bed. If a messenger had brought it his mother would have told him it was here. Meaning someone else had brought it. He didn't sense anyone in his room though and he expanded his power to make sure of that. His room as empty. He turned his attention to the envelope and sat, picking it up gingerly. He tested it with a small weave and when it didn't explode or prove hostile he opened it, but held his breath, in case there was anything in the envelope.

_Spayar,_

_Stop holding your breath idiot, its Mali. If I wanted to kill you over a letter DiSol has assured me they have contact poisons much better for the job. I've made it to DisAdo safely but I don't know for how long. Someone has put a death spell on me, DiSol is looking for the one who has while I fix LouSai._

_Progress is slow. There are seperatists in his house who want to reclaim their independence from the Alliance. LouSai supports their position as a province, I'm sure you can guess that CoLan does not. Someone is poisoning the Shadow Lord. I haven't told DiSol yet, but I'm telling you and Vondugard. I'm sure you know what that means and what it means if LouSai dies. I've been fighting the poisoner with magic but it's seeped in deeply to the Shadow Lord. I promised I'd have the Shadow Lord well by spring; and I will._

_I need help. I'm sure you know who I need so I won't bother to endanger them with writing them here. Send them on wyrm back to Qkasi, someone will be there to get them and bring them safely to DisAdo. I've sent a message to them too, they're waiting for you to get them._

_Don't let me down._

_Mali_

Spayar frowned at the letter. This wasn't good. He did know who she was talking about though. He couldn't go and get them now though. They lived down in Cat's Cradle and to get there he'd have to cross over Swan Island and the riot. He'd get them tomorrow. Surely Mali would understand.


	15. Mother Knows Best

Diylan watched Spayar get into the carriage and next to him Gard didn't move. He could feel the prince's irritation though, just as much as Spayar's. The problem with the Alliance, in Diylan's opinion, was that everyone was taught to be kinda bull headed and stick to their opinions and ideals. The problem was when two unmovable forces like Spayar and Gard met. Of course Gard had no one to blame but himself for how Spayar acted, Diylan knew that (the prince didn't of course, he was mostly blind to everything Spayar did for and because of him).

"Let's go Diylan," Gard said and left the front steps. Diylan followed quietly. He knew Gard would speak soon though, he was too agitated not to.

They were nearly to Gard's apartments when he finally burst, "What is his problem?" he demanded.

"Spayar's?" Diylan asked.

"Who else?" Gard sent him a sharp look that Diylan was more familiar coming from the Overseer than some kid three years his junior. "He's got so much attitude lately about everything."

"He's worried, that's all," Diylan said, "and stressed."

"Why the hell would he be stressed?" Gard asked and opened the door to his apartments. They entered. "Doesn't he see what I'm doing?"

Diylan frowned at Gard, "He does. But sometimes I don't think you see what he's doing," which of course Diylan knew. The prince was so fantastically oblivious to Spayar. What he did for the prince, how much he sacrificed for him, that Spayar loved him. All for nothing.

"What are you talking about?" Gard asked with a roll of his eyes, "I know everything he does."

"Yes," Diylan agreed and took off his stiff, leather, flak jacket and hat and hung them up. "But do you know how much he does for you?"

That caught the prince off guard, "What do you mean?" he sat.

Diylan lowered his long frame into a chair opposite him. "He would do anything for you Vondugard," he said.

"I know that-

"Apparently you don't," Diylan cut him off. "Or you wouldn't put him in so much danger when he is your _d'aelar_. Do you even know what that means?"

"Do not lecture me on my own history, Diylan," Gard growled.

"Spayar is your weak spot. Do you know why? Because he is weak. If something happened to his family they would control him and you would be crippled without you _d'aelar_. Half the things you take for granted, or even just knowing in general about the going ons of the city and your siblings is because of Spayar. You take him for granted and then brush his concerns off as frivolous."

"I do not," Gard said petulantly. "I take everything he says very seriously."

"The riot?"

Gard was quiet a moment. "I am doing what I have to," he said, voice now subdued. "I need to win. If I don't win; I die."

"And what do you think happens to Spayar? He is your _d'aelar_. You die, he dies, and unlike you he's just common born. There is nothing in place to protect him from the horrors of what people do to 'traitors' once you're dead. They might chop your head off but he'll be your effegy and they'll drag his body through the streets to mock you," and Gard looked uncomfortable when confronted with such a thing. "He has much more to lose than you. If you win everything is fine, you get to become king. If you don't you both die and his family is shamed for several generations."

"He knows the risks."

"But didn't ask for them. I know he'd never tell you this because you're his best friend; but you're being a complete and utter asshole to him-

"Hey!" Gard jumped to his feet. "He's my best friend-

"Then maybe you should act like you care," Diylan said, still sitting. "You made him like this and if he says to do something you should listen. He became this way because you made him."

Gard frowned deeply, conflicted. Diylan knew his prince wasn't really that dumb. Sure sometimes he could be a bit stupid but he didn't try to be. More he was just oblivious. Diylan hated seeing the way Spayar looked at the prince. Partially because he was jealous because few people would ever find someone so devoted to them or love them so much as to throw their entire life away for the other. He doubted Gard really knew what he had, or how good Spayar was to him.

"He is my _d'aelar_ ," Gard said after a moment, "the best Asuras in history had a _d'aelar_."

"And they listened to their _d'aelar_ ," Diylan said, "Vondugard was a famous _d'aelar_ ," he reminded Gard, "a hero and a conqueror."

"I know," Gard sighed. "I just... I'm sixteen Diylan, and I'm planning a coup to kill my entire family. Sometimes I don't think straight."

"That's why you have Spayar," Diylan said. "he thinks when you're being an idiot. You're going to be Asuras, Vondugard. You need to learn to actually rely on people and let them do what you assigned them to do. Spayar's was to make sure everything goes smoothly. Trust him. And when you see him again take your head out of your ass and apologize to him."

"You can't talk to me like that," Gard growled.

"You aren't Asuras yet, Gard," Diylan said. "And you can't take my medallion," there was a knock on the door as Gard scowled at him.

"Your highness, her majesty summons you," a servant called and Gard tore his eyes away from Diylan finally.

"What for?" he called back.

"She simply summons you to her chamber."

"Coming," he called and then looked at Diylan, "Fuck," Gard muttered. "She's going to punish me."

"Want me to come along?" Diylan offered, Spayar would flay him if he let Gard go alone into his mother's rooms.

"Yes," Gard said and checked his fine clothes.

"Dry off my jacket would you," Diylan said and grabbed his flak jacket, the leather dripped water. Gard said something archaic and his jacket dried without drying out. Diylan pulled it on. The flak jacket was the flighter's uniform. Leather. padded with wool and lined with silk there were narrow pockets in the wool where thin plates of metal could be placed to turn it into a more proper armor. Diylan's jacket was currently empty. "Thank you," he said and tugged at the hem so it lay flat across his huge shoulders.

"Do I look like I just came out of the rain?" Gard asked.

"No," Diylan shook his head and Gard checked himself in the mirror and patted his hair down.

"Okay, lets go," and Diylan followed Gard out of his rooms.

"What do you think she'll do?"

"Ground me maybe," Gard said, "or make me do something demining for my siblings. She knows we all hate each other and humiliating me to them would hopefully put me in my place."

"Would it?" Diylan asked, his hands behind his back as he walked.

Gard looked at him and smirked, "What do you think?"

"Yeah, didn't think so," Diylan agreed as they walked past the doors of the great throne room.

They arrived at Asuras Virlia's apartments shortly after. They overlooked the high garden of the Palace that was filled with lush greenery that was slowly turning brown in the late fall. The door of the Asuras' apartments was as grand as you could get, large and impressive with the gods carved onto it to intimidate you when you came up to them. Gard stopped in front of the doors, tugged on his dress coat he was wearing, a nervous habit, and knocked.

The door opened to one of Virilia's ladies in waiting. She had white face and darkly shadowed eyes and red lips. Diylan thought she looked pretty hot, her hair in a braid over her shoulder. "Your highness," she bowed to him a little.

"My mother called," Gard said.

"Yes, your highness. This way," and she let them in. She looked about to deny Diylan and Gard gave her a look that silenced her. She led them into a room that overlooked not just the high garden in the east but also all of Assuars. Rain splattered against the windows. It was raining heavier now, and the sun was starting to go down.

Virilia was sitting on a couch looking out the window. "Mother," Gard said, stopping several feet behind the couch, "you summoned me?"

Virilia turned to look at him. Diylan was impassive to her now but he remembered the first time he'd seen her. The coup that had led to her ascension had been quick and bloody, as she had only two siblings. The short lived war had left her face scarred, two long cuts on her left cheek, a third across her right eyebrow and a cut on her neck that had cut her jugular. A healer had gotten to her before she'd bled out. Virilia had apparently once been pretty, Diylan had seen portraits of her before the coup, but now she looked more like a bird of prey. 

Her hair was the color of corn and long, worked into a woven crown of silver on her head. Her eyes shockingly blue and intense, the sheer amount of magic running through her made them glow. She was not beautiful anymore though, though she once had been. Because of that she'd married the most beautiful man in the Alliance she could find, though judging by the bedroom they'd passed the Asuras and her king did not sleep in the same bed.

"Come here," she ordered. Diylan stayed where he was. He knew what he represented. He represented the Drake, a house who liked Virilia. Also a house who favored sons and treated them well. Diylan would report any harsh punishment of her son to Jollen. Virlia couldn't afford to lose the Drake. Though Diylan wondered how much Gard cared about the Drake. He hadn't done anything to broach the topic again of an alliance. Somehow Diylan thought he'd gone all the way to the Wyrd just to get Diylan.

Gard went and stood in front of Virilia. "Mother," he said and bowed his head.

She got up slowly from the couch and slapped him. Diylan rose his brows. He was honestly not expecting that. Gard was just turned away from the force of it. "You stupid boy," she said icily. "What do you think you did?"

"I went to pray, mother," Gard said humbly, looking down. Diylan had to admit, Gard could do humble surprisingly well.

She slapped him again, this time with the back of her had to humiliate him. Diylan saw a bit of blood on Gard's cheek from one of her rings ripping open Gard's cheek. "You will stay in the Palace until I say otherwise. You will not leave for anything, even to worship. You may not go see a healer until it stops bleeding on its own. Am I understood?"

Gard looked at his mother with disbelieving eyes. All the princes and princesses thought the Asuras was weak. Nearly everyone did. She was a weak Asuras who hadn't even killed her mother, she'd let her brother kill her and then killed him when he was weak. She was a coward. "Vondugard; do you understand me?" she demanded.

"Yes, mother," he bowed.

"Get out of my sight," and Gard left, she stayed standing. Diylan followed the prince out of the apartments thinking of the first report he'd be sending to the Overseer.

"Does it hurt?" Diylan asked once they were out the rooms, honestly he was worried about it. Spayar would have a fit.

"Yes," Gard said and rubbed his cheek, then hissed realizing he was an idiot.

"Here," Diylan pulled his goggles rag from one of the pockets on his flak jacket, folded it up a few times, and pressed it it against Gard's cheek. The cut was shallow but it cut across Gard's entire cheek.

"Thanks," Gard said and held it. They headed back to Gard's apartments. On the way there Gard looked at Diylan, "Spayar is going to kill me isn't he?" he asked.

"For getting hurt? Oh probably. For pissing your mother off this much that she'd strike you? Absolutely."

"Damnit," Gard muttered.

"Oh woe is you having a _d'aelar_ who loves you," Diylan said.

"Yeah," Gard sighed, "woe is me."


	16. The Lives of Women

Huge puddles dotted the roads as Spayar rode down the paved streets, heading for Cat’s Cradle. He didn’t like going here, the roads seemed to shift and change every time you took a turn and most of them were narrow, barely able to fit two horses abreast. Awnings covered the entire streets, so the light came in muted and colored in every color you could want. Spayar kept his eyes to himself as he rode his mare to an inn down an alley, the entrance covered by a seven foot awning the same color as a cloudless sky.

Spayar took a deep breath before dismounting, his tall boots splashing into a puddle of gutter water. He _really_ didn’t like coming here.

Spayar knew a lot of things, and had contacts everywhere. Not all of them were good contacts either. Once, completely by accident, he’d made friends with a cut purse from Cat’s Cradle during a mandatory magic class all gifted children had to take, so they didn’t end up blowing themselves or someone else up by accident. She’d taken him here one day to the _King’s_ Casket. He’d been too young to realize it then, but now he knew just what sort of people hung out at the _King’s_ Casket. He didn’t come here unless he couldn’t help it. Unless he _needed_ _her_. He preferred when she came to Bellringer, but the messenger he’d sent to her house earlier had returned saying her apartment was empty. If it was empty it meant she was here.

And he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Only the bartender looked up when Spayar opened the door. The dining room and bar were low lit from a few hanging oil lamps and tables were clustered around the floor. Along the walls were booths and in the back of the place, next to the stairs that separated it from the bar, was the court, a large booth around a big, round, wooden table. There were a few people deep into their cups, even at this hour, at the tables. In the back, at the court, were several people, including a musician who was strumming on a bow-less fiddle. Spayar walked towards the large booth calmly, the normal patrons didn’t notice him and he swallowed when he got to the big table.

No one paid him any mind and he sat, everyone engrossed in what they were doing. They’d notice him eventually. He just sat there, calmly his eyes moving across all the people at the table. He recognized a few but didn’t look for too long.

“Eh, kid,” someone next to him said and he turned, “You in?” they asked and held out a deck of cards to him.

“What’s the in?” he asked.

“Bronze and half,” said the man, he was missing half the teeth on his upper jaw.

“I’m in,” he took the top card of the deck and fished out some coppers and let them roll noisily on the table to chirp against the other bronze coins. The other conversations didn’t stop but he could feel the musician eyeing him how, still plucking at his instrument.

“You know dem rules?” the man who several missing teeth asked.

“‘Ye,” he nodded, taking on a Bellringer drawl like he did when talking to Jill.

“Good,” he said and flipped the card on the top over and put it on the table next to the little pile of bronze and copper atrins the few people playing were gambling with. Spayar looked at his card and frowned. The man missing the teeth did the other people in the game, Spayar was last, asking for a flip. Three cards were flipped onto the table before he got to Spayar. “What’chu?” he asked.

Spayar studied his card and the four cards on the table. They were all shitty cards and Spayar didn’t doubt he was being scammed here. So he might as well play the part of the scammed gracefully. “Take,” he said and the man handed him a card. He frowned again. A unicorn and the three trees. Bad hand.

He played for a bit, lost nearly a silver before the man with few teeth said, “So what’chu doin’ here?”

“Looking for someone,” Spayar said, keeping a pokerface that was much better than the one he’d been letting slip while playing cards.

“Yaw? Whos?”

“Tassa-“ the musician stopped playing, which made the other people look at the musician and then where he was looking, which was at Spayar.

“What you want with our Tassa?” and Spayar refused to swallow or look afraid. “Eh?” the gap toothed man asked and when Spayar glanced around quickly he saw more than one knife.

“Imma friend,” he said calmly.

“And what’s your name, kid?” Spayar’s eyes darted across the table to a man sitting at the rough center of the circular table, he had dangerous, dark, eyes, and a narrow beard under his lower lip.

Spayar opened his mouth to lie. “What’s going on here? Why ain’t you playing a song Mascull?” a female voice asked and Spayar twisted around.

“Tassa,” Spayar said, never more relieved to see the witch than right now.

“Spay?” she asked and cocked her head to the side, “What’re’ou doin’ere?” all her words were running together, clearly from whatever she’d been smoking.

“Looking for you,” he told her.

She blinked and then looked at the table, and was with it enough to sense the hostility. “Put dem things away,” she scolded everyone. “It’s just Spay,” and she sat in his lap, his arm went around her waist, though mainly to make sure she didn’t fall off it.

“You know him, Tassy?” a woman asked, a mean thing with a big scar on her face.

“Aw yeah,” she nodded highly. “Spay’s a good man he is,” and she kissed him, right on the mouth. Spayar did his best not to gag. Ew. Women. “Best kisser there is too,” and she giggled. Spayar refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Tassa, I need to talk to you,” he said.

“All ears,” she said and smiled dreamily at him. He rose his brows at her. “Oh,” she said like suddenly understanding. “Oh oh _oh_ ,” and she got off his lap. “Be back later dears,” and she waved at the people at the table as she dragged Spayar to his feet and up the stairs, leaving behind any ill will.

She led him to a room down the hall and pushed it open with her hip, dragging him along by both hands. He managed to close the door once she let him go. “Finally changed your mind huh?” she asked and made to undo her top.

Spayar lashed out and grabbed her hands before she could do that. The _last_ thing he wanted to see was Tassa naked. Or any woman naked. Sometimes he had stressful dreams about undressing men and finding them to be women. The only girls he’d seen naked were his sisters when they were little girls, and he wanted to keep it that way. “Please don’t,” he stressed.

Tassa stared at him, lips parted, then she sighed, “Still on the wrong side huh?” she asked him.

“I’m quite happy with it personally,” Spayar said simply. “Now, please stay dressed.”

She sighed laboriously and tugged from his grip and sat on the bed, “Fine,” she pouted at him. “Always got to ruin my fun,” she pursed her lips at him.

“Terribly sorry I’m the one man in your life that won’t sleep with you,” Spayar said with a touch of sarcasm. Not that it wasn’t true, no doubt Tassa had fucked all those guys out there, though for no other reason than she liked it. She was pretty enough to even make them pay for it with wide hips, and a narrow waist, her olive skin holding every Peony feature with her large eyes, elegant eyebrows, full, pouting mouth, and small nose. She looked like a porcelain doll.

“You’d make me very happy if you did though,” she told him, her lower lip jutting out a little.

Spayar chuckled, “Once you grow a penis let me know, then we’ll talk,” he told her.

“I can get one,” she said with a grin.

Spayar sighed and shook his head, “This is for you,” he handed her the letter Mali had been trying to send to her. “Its from Mali.”

“Yeah? What’s the bunny want?” she asked sort of meanly.

“Look and see.”

Tassa opened the envelope and read. She blinked a few times and started at the beginning again, now in a different, less high, state than before. “Did she really just say I’m the most talented witch she knows?” she asked skeptically.

Spayar leaned over her shoulder, “Looks like it,” he said.

“She must be in a lot of trouble to be kissing my ass this much,” Tassa said with a smirk, then she got to the end. “That stupid idiot,” she complained.

“So now that you know the situation-

“Do I _have_ to go Spay?” she complained.

“Is Mali your friend?”

“Sort of… I guess,” she shrugged, “The fat bunny is too damn high strung for my tastes. And now she’s got a death curse on her, how _nice_ ,” she tossed the letter onto the bed next to her. “I don’t want to go to LoHanJo’in,” she said.

“You are though,” Spayar said, “Diylan is waiting just outside the city and will take you there.”

She whined, “But _why_? Why do I have to go? I served my time in the military. Surely that’s enough?” she looked at him pitifully.

He had to feel a bit bad for Tassa, she was a member of a noble family, but one made through rape and as Tassa had confided in him when they were younger; incest. Bad enough she was a noble bastard, having to hold the name Hau-Peony, but her time during the military hadn’t been kind to her. She was too beautiful, had she been any less of a witch bad things would have happened to her.

“The prince needs you to do this,” Spayar said gently. Because that was the price of friendship with a prince, you went where he needed, when he needed it.

She made an unimpressed noise, “Vondugard needs me to do a lot of things,” she rolled her eyes, “He’s as bad as my commanders were. You might be the only man who won’t sleep with me, but he’s one of the ones I won’t.”

Spayar crouched down a little, so he was more on her level, “I need you to do this,” he told her gently and put his hand on her knee and felt sort of bad for what he was doing. “Its important for me that you do this,” he told her seriously.

She frowned at him, “Do you really need me to?” she asked him softly.

“I wouldn’t have come myself if it wasn’t important, Tassura,” he said, his voice still gentle. “Mali needs your help. _I_ need your help. If you won’t do this for Von or Mali, do it for me?” and he knew she would. She would do anything for him, anything; and he never had anything to give back to her.

She sucked on her lips and turned her head away, thinking. Then she looked back at him, “One condition.”

“If you say sex with you you can forget it.”

She laughed, sort of sadly, “No. I know you’d never say yes,” she said bitterly, “When this is over you’re getting me out of this place,” she said.

He blinked, “Out of the _King’s_ Casket?”

“Out of Cat’s Cradle,” she said, “I want you to have Von give me a new name,” she said.

Spayar cocked his head at her, “Are you serious?”

“I don’t want to be a bastard,” she said thickly. “I don’t want to live here.”

“Are you feeling okay Tassa?” he asked her worriedly, he’d never heard her so upset, or so emotional about this. Normally she was so happy and bubbly, even when she was high, and didn’t seem to care about her name or her place. What the hell had she taken?

“No,” she said lowly, “Someone gave me something. And now I feel like I’m thinking clearly for the first time in a long time,” her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I want to be able to leave Cat’s Cradle and people not look at me with pity when they know who I am.”

“That’s all you want?” he asked her, he would have given her the moon if she asked it. His oldest friend amid this madness and he did what he could for her.

“Yes. I want a new name. You promise me that when he wins, he’ll do it. He’ll rewrite my name in the Book,” she said.

“I promise,” Spayar said, “When Von wins, you can get any name you want,” he promised her.

“You swear?” she held out her hand.

Spayar looked at it, knowing what she wanted. He took it and kissed her palm lightly, a Dirinnan promise, “I swear,” he said. “Now, I need you to go and help Mali for me. Can you do that?” he squeezed her hand.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “For you Spay,” she said.

“Thank you,” he got up and kissed her on the cheeks and then between her eyes and hugged her. She hugged him back tightly and for the first time ever Spayar felt bad he wasn’t attracted to girls. He knew what it was like to love someone who would never love you back. It was the worst feeling. He felt awful for putting Tassa through it sometimes. He just held her for a few minutes, to maybe make it hurt a little bit less.

—

Each pebble of metal Anora dropped onto the scale made a dull clinking noise as it jangled against the others. Outside the big clock tower rang for the third bell and Anora stopped briefly. “Spayar,” she said.

“Hmm?” he asked and motioned with his hand for her to keep adding to the scale to made the metal pebbles equal to the little bag of lead on the other side.

“Did alchemists make the Tadradin?” she asked, meaning the name most people called the tower.

“No,” he said, “Tadradin did.”

“Was he an alchemist?” she added a few more pebbles before stopping as the scale clicked, meaning both sides were equal.

“No,” Spayar said, “He was a watchmaker, the first one apparently. He bought the land and had the tower built and installed the clock himself.”

“Really?” she scooped the pebbles into a metal containing and put them away.

“Yeap. Now, this is the hard part,” Spayar took out a vial filled with a pale gray powder. “Most alchemists learn to do this by sight,” he said and started to pour the powder onto the other side of the scale from the lead. The lead stayed where it was and Spayar groped out with his element to tell how much of the powder he was using. For this stuff you had to be _exact_ , which was why he was doing it, and not Anora. Powders were only for trained alchemists, and while Spayar had only spent two years under them he was as good as a junior alchemist thanks to his element.

The scales clicked just as Spayar pulled the powder vial back. Anora scraped it into an envelope. “Can girls go to Galinsum?” she asked.

“Of course,” Spayar said and picked up the bag of lead and weighed it in his hand. He pulled out three of the little rods and putting it back, knowing exactly how much was in it. “Most of the really good ones I knew _were_ girls,” Spayar started to pour another powder onto the scales.

“Really?”

He glanced up at her, “Really,” he said, “Want me to talk to dad about it?”

“Would you?” she asked excitedly. Her, free, mandatory schooling was almost over, and she’d need to either pay to go to school or start working as an apprentice. Or go to Galinsum. He mulled it over, that could work out.

“Sure,” he said, “Though Galinsum is _very_ far from home,” he reminded her.

“I know, but I like it,” she said cheerfully.

“I’ll talk to our parents,” Spayar promised her, the more he thought about it the more he liked the idea of it. Galinsum would keep his baby sister away from whatever fury rained upon his family should he fail this winter. “I know some people. They’ll be able to give you a good deal on your tuition,” she nodded eagerly. “There, that’s it,” and she scraped that powder into a little envelope as well.

Spayar put the scales aside and brought out the bowl. “Both powders, in,” he ordered. She dumped them both in.

“What’s this do?” she asked.

“Surprise,” he smiled at her. “Now,” he took the jar of honey next to him and took out a small spoon. Anora looked at the honey and Spayar grinned. He scooped up a bit of the honey and offered it to Anora. Her black eyes lit up and she sucked the honey off the spoon.

“Mmm!” she declared.

He chuckled and put a real spoon of honey in the powder along with some milk. “Alchemy is a lot like being an apothecary,” Spayar said, “The right ingredients do amazing things. In some cases, they heal, sometimes they hurt, but it has to be _just_ right.” Anora nodded quickly, her pigtails swinging. “So you have the seal?” he asked her.

“Yeah, right here,” she showed it to him, drawn out on a large piece of paper. It was a very basic seal, since this was very low level alchemy.

“Good, now I need,” he reached over and pulled out a single strand of Anora’s hair out.

“Ow! Spayar,” she complained.

He just grinned and added it to the bowl along with some dried out orange peels. “Its done, now stir,” he gave Anora the spoon. She stirred.

“I still want to know what this is,” she told him.

“You will,” he promised.

“Is this okay?” she asked, showing him the mixture.

“Yes, perfect, now put it on the seal— in the center,” he added. Anora put the paper down and then placed the bowl in the middle. “Now, to activate any form of alchemy, you need a catalyst.”

“Okay. What’s the catalyst here?” she asked.

Spayar held up a cup, “Orange juice,” he said.

“This whole things sounds like you’re making food,” and Spayar laughed, “Is this really an alchemic spell?” she asked.

“Yes,” he promised, “Not all alchemy is flashy. In fact, most of it isn’t,” he poured only a few drops of the juice into the bowl. It instantly started to smoke and he drank the rest of the orange juice. “A lot of it is just chemistry,” thick smoke poured from the bowl and sank, scattering across the table to dissipate at the edges, the air wicking it away.

“How long does this take?” Anora asked.

Spayar looked at the clock hanging across the room, pendulum, ticking back and forth, “Not long. About a minute,” he said.

“Can I touch it?” she asked.

“No, its very hot,” Spayar told her. She nodded and they waited. The smoke stopped gradually, and before Anora could look Spayar took the bowl and flipped it upside down onto the table, over the seal, splashing in what remained of the smoke. “So I’m going to give this to you,” he said, “but you have to take care of it.”

“What is to though?” she asked.

“Will you?” he pressed.

She looked annoyed Spayar wasn’t just telling her what it was, “Yes,” she said after a moment.

“Good, otherwise I’d have to kill it before it saw you,” and Spayar lifted the bowl up. “Its a construct,” he told her as the figure that looked sort of like a toy, winged, cat. It was about the size of Spayar’s hand and made completely of seamless, shiny metal, bat-like wings protruding from its shoulders and a long serpentine tail that ended in a barb.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A chimera,” Spayar said, “A very small one.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, “How did all that stuff make it?” she asked, in awe.

“A chimera is a spirit that alchemists bind to a set of materials, that we press into a predetermined shape,” Spayar said. “The powders are its building materials, the organic material we used were used to power and give life to the chimera. The seal told it what to build itself as, and the juice was the catalyst that started the magic.”

“Magic? Orange juice is magic?”

“Oranges are sacred fruit,” Spayar said, “Something divined by the gods are catalysts. A lot of times its our blood,” she made a face.

“And what about my hair?”

“Oh that,” he poked the little chimera and it jumped forward, “that’s to bind it to you,” it padded over to Anora and then jumped, taking flight, to land on her shoulder. She looked beside herself when it did that. “Your chimera will always be with you now, unless someone kills it-

“No!” she snatched the chimera from her shoulder and held it tightly, “No one’s killing my chimera,” she said fiercely.

Spayar smiled, “If you ever don’t want it, all you have to do is pour orange juice on it. That will allow the spirit out again,” and then he laughed, Anora looked like she would _never_ do that. “But there you go, alchemy,” and then he started to clean up.

“I love it,” she told him and got off her chair and went to hug him, he held her tightly, squeezing her until she complained, and then set her down. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Spayar said, “I got the clean up,” he added and she bounced off, her chimera flying after her. Spayar watched her go with a happy smile, and then turned back to cleaning up. He put the powders and the weights and metals into his bag along with the casting bowl, which was tainted by the alchemy he did in it. The page the seal had been written on he tore up to throw away.

He was putting away the honey and milk in the kitchen when someone came in to see him. “Spayar,” Calli said and Spayar turned as he put the jar of honey away, it clinking against the sugar jar.

“Yeah?” he asked when she didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“Can I go to Tallalsala’s naming day?” she asked, Spayar hadn’t officially gotten her an invitation yet. Though if she came with him she wouldn’t need one.

He frowned at her, really he didn’t want his siblings anywhere near the Le’Acard. Bad enough he had Von and just one Le’Acard was enough trouble for one common family. He didn’t like the idea of letting Calli go, especially with the political landscape what it was right now. Von was in a bad way with his mother, his older siblings were spoiling for a war. He didn’t want to be involved, but he had to be, because he was. But what he really didn’t want was his sister involved, even just to go to Tallalsala’s naming day.

He took a deep breath, “Yes,” he said, because he knew how much she wanted to go and he wanted to see her happy. He didn’t like it, but it made her happy, which was evident when she gave a cry and threw herself at him, hugging him. He hugged her back tightly and pressed his face into his shoulder briefly. He really hoped he was making the right decision here. Hopefully Tallalsala wouldn’t do anything during her party.

“Thank you thank you thank you,” Calli was saying over and over again and he let her go so she could slide away from him.

“Do you have something to wear?” he asked her.

She nodded, “I have a dress,” she said.

“Which one? What color?”

“Does it matter?” she asked.

He nearly laughed, “Yes, it does. What color is it? What’s it look like? Show me,” he just cut to the chase. She nodded and he followed her upstairs to her bedroom. She pulled a dress out from the closet and showed him.

It wasn’t a bad dress, it matched her skin tone, but it was old, out of date by several years and was too simple and plain. She’d be a laughing stock in this dress if she wore it to Tallalsala’s naming day party. “You can’t wear that,” he told her bluntly.

“What?” she asked, “Momma gave it to me though, for special occasions.”

“She might have,” Spayar said, “But you can’t wear that dress to Tallalsala’s naming day. The cut’s out of style, the color’s out of season, it’s shapeless, I could go on. You can’t wear that,” he told her simply.

She looked at him like she was about to cry, “Then what?” she asked.

“Put on your shoes,” and then he left her and went into his room. He pulled on his leathers to fight the rain outside, and rolled up his pants a bit. He grabbed his hat and purse on the way out and went back to Calli’s room, she was still just standing there looking at the dress with an air of dejection. “I said put on your shoes, and wear something for walking,” he told her sternly, making her start and look at him.

“What? But why?”

“My sister can’t wear something like that to Tallalsala’s naming day, so we’re going to go get something better,” he patted his pocket where his money was, the coins jingling. Her eyes went wide. “Now shoes, and a shorter skirt. I’ll be downstairs,” he smirked when she looked about to cry from delight and then turned and went downstairs to wait for her.

She came back downstairs in pants and waterproof boots. “Okay,” she said, practically bouncing down the stairs. He looked her over once and then nodded. “Are we taking Honey?” she asked.

“No,” Spayar said, his horse had been Honey for a few days, but his siblings still made up names for her all the time. He was barely keeping track of them. She was still nameless to him. “We’re just going to South Garden,” he said as they headed for the side door through the forge, to not have to walk too as much in the rain.

The forge was warm, and dry, and the apprentices were banging on bars and shaping the metals into swords and chain and plates. Spayar opened the door for Calli but lingered a moment. Sometimes he was reminded he could be doing that, he could be one of those apprentices making swords and knives and helping his father. That he could have been an amazing smith with his element instead of a useless mage. His father had everything right, and sure his business was better because Spayar was his son, but his father was a master, and he would have made a name for himself regardless. This could have been his. And instead he was worrying about politics and knew that his sweet sister’s dress was out of fashion, and planning a coup to kill the entire royal family.

“Spayar, you coming?” Calli asked, standing under the awning outside of the forge, holding her umbrella above her preemptively so she wouldn’t get rained on.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Spayar said and finally left the forge to stand beside her, tugging on his hat. “Lets go,” he said and led his sister down the street, sticking to walk under the brightly colored awnings out of the rain.

—

The tailor was marked with a gay sign and a flamboyantly colored awning an expensive indigo color that faded very specifically to pink at the edge. Calli was practically about to jump out of her skin she was so excited and Spayar just smiled as he opened the door. She closed her umbrella and left it in a stand by the door when she went in. 

The bell jingled when he closed the door and a woman with flame red hair came out of the side room. Joy looked like Jill with a small nose and freckles everywhere, only unlike her son she was a built like a barrel. “Hello,” she said gracefully.

“Ma’am,” Spayar said and tugged off his hat, “I’m here to buy my sister a dress.”

“Oh? Well you came to the right place,” she said cheerfully.

“I need it for Tallalsala’s party,” he said.

She froze, “For her highness’ party?” she asked.

“Yes. That isn’t a problem is it?”

“Not at all,” she said, “Come here dear,” and then she called over her shoulder, “Lellin, get in here!” Then to Calli she said, “What’s your name dear?” and pulled his sister onto a stand.

“Calli, ma’am,” she said shyly, “Calli Hillsman-

“Hillsman!” Joy cried, “You’re Hillsman?” and then she scowled at Spayar, “Is that your brother?” she asked, almost accusingly. Spayar just chuckled.

“Yes, ma’am,” Calli said, sounding nervous.

“You boy-“ Joy was about to say something else when Jill’s younger brother came into the main room. Lellin had black hair and dark eyes, like their father, and was much more reserved than his fiery brother. “Ah, there you are Lellin, take Calli’s measurements for me, dear,” and she patted her son’s shoulder.

“Yes, momma,” he said and pulled out a measuring tool.

Joy marched over to Spayar, he just grinned slyly, not minding he’d been caught. “And you,” she said, “didn’t even say nothin’ when you came in,” she scolded him.

Spayar laughed a little, “Sorry, ma’am,” he said.

“No you aint,” she scoffed. “You like giving me a hard time, same as that boy o’ mine.”

“A little perhaps.”

“Next time you sees him you tell him to come home and let me cook for him,” she told him in no uncertain terms.

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“And you need clothes too? Or just for your sister?”

“Just my sister,” Spayar said, “I’m… well versed in courtly fashion,” he sighed. “I know its in to have a deep cut and high hem, but-

“I’ll keep ‘em high and low,” she assured him.

“Thank you,” he sighed, he didn’t want his little sister showing more skin than she was ready for, and Dirinnans were pretty modest. Spayar himself refused to wear the open collared doublets that were the ‘thing’ to wear right now. At least Von kept his to just open around the neck, Spayar wouldn’t get anything done if Von went around nearly bare chested. “And whatever it costs,” he added to Joy.

“Really?” she asked him, giving him a look.

“Yes,” he said, “My prince is footing the bill. So whatever the costs,” he grinned. He hadn’t told Von this yet of course, but Von loved Calli like he didn’t and couldn’t love his real sisters. He’d be understanding. “Make her a princess.”

Joy smiled, “We surely will,” she said.

“Momma,” Lellin said, “I did the measures.”

“You’re a good boy, Spayar,” she told him, Spayar just nodded as she turned back to his sister. “Alright deary, lets see what we can do with you. Your brother said to make you princess,” and Calli beamed, “So princess you shall be.” 

Spayar sat on a couch provided for the people not getting new clothes and leaned back, his arms on the back of the couch. He smiled a little as Joy and Lellin started to fuss over Calli, his sister becoming flustered for a few moments before she seemed to get a hold of herself and began answering their questions with precision. He still felt a nagging in the back of his head, that he should pull her down from the stand and back home and keep her far from the royals as he could. He knew it was just his overprotective nature of his sisters, but he couldn’t help it. She’d be fine, the party would be great, and afterwards he could think about how he and Von were going to kill Tallalsala and the others. All (hopefully) before spring. He sighed a little. It was going to be a very long winter.


	17. Frenemies

Mali knew DiSol didn’t like letting her leave DisAdo with the current state of her body, and that was besides the death spell. She was starting to feel weak and DiSol was panicking about as much as someone like DiSol could panic. Apparently this was exactly what had happened to LouSai. Mali didn’t let it scare her though. She could fight this, and she would make not only herself, but LouSai well again.

She coughed, shivering on the pony DiSol had given her for the trip to Akiro’, a small city north of DisAdo. DiSol was with her as always, on his own pony, giving her a worried look every now and then. She ignored him. She wasn’t some weak flower she knew Shade thought every other province was full of. She was a mage, a healer, and she wouldn’t be beaten by some backwoods wizard who wanted her dead. They were waiting outside of Akiro’ and had been for some time. She’d told Tassa when to come, knew Spayar would get her on a wyrm and get her here. She didn’t know how, but it was Spayar. He made things happen, things that didn’t normally happen.

“There,” DiSol pointed and Mali squinted, then she saw it, a bird. Only it wasn’t a bird as it got larger and larger the closer it got and soon Mali could see the distinct shape of the wyrm, with its brilliant wings contrasting with its slate gray skin. “Now we can go back to DisAdo,” he gave Mali another concerned look. She ignored him.

The wyrm’s landing was surprisingly soft, only disrupting the grass with its wind. The ponies, surprisingly, didn’t even flinch in wake of the huge creature. “Hello!” the flighter called from wyrm back and waved, pushing his goggles out of his face. Mali waved back and she and DiSol watched the flighter dismount, revealing another figure behind him. He helped them down and held them by the arm so they didn’t fall.

“This better be good Mali!” Tassa yelled at her from where the flighter was helping her keep her feet.

“I’d say my life is a pretty good reason,” Mali called back and rubbed her nose. She was so cold. Why did it have to get cold so quickly in the south?

Eventually Tassa got her feet and stood up straight, adjusted her clothes, and marched right over to her. She was even more insufferable to look at than Mali remembered. Next to her DiSol’s eyes got wide and his head cocked to the side in amazement. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting someone like Tassa who looked like she’d stepped out of the most expensive pleasure house in Peonia. Which just annoyed Mali since Tassa had just traveled half way across the Alliance and other than an unsteady start off the wyrm didn’t even look frazzled. Mali hated how perfect and wonderful Tassa looked at all times, even though she was just a slut with open legs.

“Mali,” she said smartly in greeting.

“Tassura,” Mali said, unimpressed. d'aelar Asuras

Tassa looked annoyed, “Don’t call me that, ‘bunny’,” and Mali fumed. She was never going to live down that nickname with this bitch.

“Right, only your boyfriend gets to call you that,” and if Tassa had slapped her with ‘bunny’ than Mali was allowed to stab her with Spayar. Honestly it wasn’t like it wasn’t incredibly obvious Tassa was in love with him, the only one who didn’t know was Vondugard. But then he wasn’t always that perceptive when it came to his friends. Tassa definitely looked wounded from that too.

“Ladies, please, no fighting,” said the flighter who now up close she saw was Diylan. “Well, unless its over me,” and he flashed them both a charming grin. At least Tassa could agree on one thing and both rolled their eyes at Diylan.

“You’re the spell smith?” DiSol asked Tassa.

“I am,” she said, “and according to Mali, the best there is,” she gave Mali the most obnoxious smile. She wouldn’t be hearing the end of that for a while either. Mali felt Tassa lightly touching the spell that would kill her, she frowned. “Oh, Mali, what a mess this is. Such a messy spell too. This is an insult to death curses.”

“Well you can reprimand the caster later,” Mali huffed, “Can you undo it?”

“Of course I can,” Tassa said sharply, insulted. “But not tonight. Flying is surprisingly exhausting,” and next to her Diylan laughed.

“But you can take it off?”

“Yes,” Tassa said, “The weave is badly placed, it shouldn’t take too much trouble to untangle it, but if I do it wrong it’ll trigger. You don’t tamper with death spells when you’re tired.”

“Very well,” Mali sighed like she didn’t want Tassa to stay, “Then we’ll return to DisAdo,” she looked at DiSol for confirmation.

“Will you be staying as well flighter?” he asked Diylan.

Diylan looked at the sky, it was getting dark. “I could fly back,” he shrugged, “Wyrms don’t like flying in the dark though.”

“I’ll arrange for a room for you,” DiSol said, “Perhaps some of my men will leave Mali alone if a flighter is her friend,” he added thoughtfully.

“People giving you a hard time Mali?” Diylan asked her, though she could hear his amusement.

“They don’t like me because I’m not Shade,” she brushed him off. “I’ve had worse.”

“We should get going,” DiSol said, “the dark is not the best time to travel, you should have come earlier.”

“Hathus flew as fast as she could okay,” Diylan said, annoyed, “Tassa here couldn’t even get to the meeting place without Spayar going to get her,” he added and gave Tassa a look.

“Why is that not a surprise,” Mali rolled her eyes.

“Can you ride, Tassa?” DiSol asked. She nodded, all magi were required to know how to ride while in the military. “We brought an extra horse,” and he brought the spare pony forward. “We didn’t expect you though,” he told Diylan.

“That’s fine, I can’t ride horses anyway. I’ll follow on Hathus,” and he climbed back onto his wyrm’s back. “You lead, I’ll follow,” and he patted Hathus’ neck and they jumped into the air.

Tassa hoisted herself up onto the pony, “How far is DisAdo?” she asked once they’d started away from Akiro’.

“Not far,” DiSol said, “We should make it in time for third meal,” he glanced at her, “If you take it at this hour,” he added.

“I don’t,” she said, “But I’ll be hungry.”

“Good,” and then DiSol fell into his normal, comfortable silence.

Mali nudged her pony closer to Tassa as they rode, “You weren’t going to come here, were you?” she asked soft enough so that only they could hear. Tassa’s silence was enough. Mali groaned in frustration, “So you wouldn’t mind if I died then?” she demanded.

“Bunny,” Tassa said slowly and looked at her, “I would have, but unlike you I don’t willingly meddle in the business of the Le’Acard.”

“Except you _would_ ,” Mali gave her a hard look. “Is Spayar the only reason you’re here?”

“Yes. And Diylan can take me home with him if I ask, so you should remember that.”

Mali took a deep breath, “I don’t want you here any more than you want to be here,” she paused, “I don’t trust anyone but you to fix this,” she added.

“Oh Mali, that’s sweet-

“But the death spell isn’t the only reason I need you,” Tassa looked confused, “Its only part,” she said softly.

“What’s the other part?”

Mali looked forward at DiSol, “DiSol,” she called.

“Yes, Mali?”

“Could you give me and Tassa some space?”

DiSol looked behind him at them, his brows creased, “Very well,” he said after a moment, “Don’t fall too far behind though. LoHanJo’in can be dangerous at night.”

“We won’t,” Mali promised and DiSol kicked his pony to make it go a bit faster.

“Its so important you can’t let our host hear?” Tassa asked.

“More, I don’t want him to worry,” Mali admitted, she’d told no one this yet. “Or go on a fed hunt. His father’s illness is magical.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Magical sicknesses are no easy weaves,” she said.

“And I felt none.”

“Then how are you sure?”

“Because every time I use my magic on him, or treat him with something, and he starts to improve, the sickness changes to resist it within a few hours. There is nothing natural about this sickness. Someone is killing the Shadow Lord and making it look like an illness,” Mali said and was glad DiSol was far away. She didn’t want him to hear this. Seeing him with his dying father always made her heart ache.

“So a lonth is killing their own Shadow Lord?” Tassa asked.

“It looks so,” Mali nodded grimly, “And… I think I have it,” she swallowed.

“Magical sicknesses aren’t contagious though,” Tassa said, clearly not thinking. Then it hit her. “The same person put it on you,” Mali nodded.

“I think the death spell is to distract me, so I won’t notice it. But I can feel it. In my bones. Its just a cold now, but I’ve seen LouSai, my strength will go next.”

“So what do you want me to do about it? I’m not a healer Mali, or a killer,” Tassa frowned deeply.

“I want you to disable the death spell,” Mali said, “and then I want you to monitor my illness. Under the death spell you should find the sickness.”

“Should I break it if I find it?”

“No,” she shook her head, “I want to see how it works.”

Tassa gave her a long look, though it was a bit hard to see in the growing darkness, “You’re crazy, Mali,” she said.

“I need to be able to fight the disease until I know who cast it, slow it down, since it won’t stop unless the caster or the one inflicted are dead.”

“You want me to find the caster?” Tassa asked.

“See, you can be clever when you want,” Mali teased and Tassa flung her leg out sideways to kick her.

“Don’t forget who’s the best witch you know,” Tassa reminded her smugly.

“That’d be you Tassa,” Mali said, with a roll of her eyes. “When does Von need you back?”

“ _Von_?” Tassa asked, “Von does not command me to do anything, and he certainly doesn’t get to call me back,” Tassa said sharply.

“Of course, sorry. When does _Spayar_ need you back?” and she knew Tassa was sending her a dirty look, but couldn’t see it in the darkness. Tassa said a spell Mali didn’t know and the air around the started to glow sharply and Mali felt cold. “ _Must_ you do that?” Mali hissed and yanked the coat around her further, fog coming from her mouth. The air was much colder. Damn ice magi.

“Its dark,” Tassa said with a shrug.

“At least let DiSol do it, he’s a binder.”

“You told DiSol to give us space though,” Tassa frowned, “make up your mind.”

“We don’t need the light, put it out its _freezing_ ,” she scolded the bastard.

Tassa rolled her eyes and snuffed out the chilly light, “Fine,” she said shortly. “And Spayar did not tell me when I needed to return home. He’ll call when he needs me, like any other man,” she sighed. “Really they’re all the same no matter what they like to fuck.”

Mali made a face, “Girls,” DiSol called from up ahead, though he was impossible to see with his Shroud on, and on his gray pony. Though he sounded just up ahead. “I must insist you come up here and stay with me now,” and a little light bloomed a short ways in front of them, DiSol was stopped on his pony, which was turned so he could look at them easier.

“Is it that dangerous?” Tassa asked him. “I didn’t think the Shade tolerated highwaymen or bandits.”

“We don’t,” DiSol said shortly, “But we often get raiders from the sea, or Black Foot from the swamps,” he frowned, Mali sometimes wished she saw him smile more. “There are also tigers in the swamps, and they come out and hunt at night.”

“Really? You have pack tigers this far north?” Tassa asked.

“Sometimes,” DiSol shrugged and turned his pony around to continue along the road, “When the Embirrir are active many of the large predators from Kas’sca come north, to escape,” and Mali shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. That a people of their own empire could scare large predators out of their home ranges. “Though that is usually in the summer, when Kas’sca is warmer and they can _hunt_ ,” and Mali knew she wasn’t the only one who shivered that time.

“They don’t come into LoHanJo’in do they?” Tassa asked carefully.

“No,” DiSol said, “Unless the Asuras calls, they do not leave Kas’sca. “But it is still warm, they might still be active, and I don’t want either of your to face a pack tiger or a bear or anything that could be too dangerous.”

“We are capable, DiSol,” Tassa said, an edge of annoyance in her voice, “And I did my time.”

“I’m sure you are,” DiSol said, “But its more for my peace of mind. I doubt the _d'aelar_ would be happy with me if I allowed anything to happen to either of you.”

Tassa smiled, “Spayar needs to learn that we can take care of ourselves,” and she sent Tassa a look, though obviously she liked knowing Spayar wouldn’t be happy if they got hurt.

“Be as it may…”

“We’ll stay close,” Mali assured him, “And Diylan is just up above if anything goes wrong.”

“You know him, the flighter?” DiSol asked.

“He’s a friend,” Mali said.

“When it strikes him,” Tassa put in. “He’s a Drake, and you know how they are.”

“I have not met many Drake,” DiSol said.

“Well he’s as full of himself as any,” Tassa snorted. “Though can’t see past his own cock.”

“Which I’m sure you know all about,” Mali said in a snide voice.

Tassa gave her a look, “Me liking to fuck has nothing to do with you, _bunny_ ,” and Mali scowled at her.

“Ladies, please,” DiSol sounded stressed, clearly he didn’t want to fight. Mali stuck her tongue out at Tassa and Tassa gave her a dirty look. They passed the rest of the trip in silence until the dark form of DisAdo appeared in the low of the land like a giant, black, spider. A few lanterns winked out at from the kill slits of the enclosed roads of the compound to look like it was a small town in the night.

Mali jumped a little when there was a suddenly rush was wind and then a dull thud as Diylan landed, just outside the low fence. “Hathus said not to land inside, wanna tell me what that’s about?” Diylan called and the next moment the world was purple as he opened a portal and his wyrm crawled through.

“Spells,” Mali said, “To check if you’re friendly or not.”

“Well… I’m a nice guy at least,” Diylan said.

“Come inside, we shouldn’t have entered DisAdo at night,” DiSol said.

“Is it bad?” Tassa asked as she led her pony through the wooden gate.

“Mind the-“ too late, Tassa yanked her pony up short and the air glowed brighter. “Tassa mind yourself,” she snapped.

“ _Rude_!” Tassa cried, and Mali watched as she snapped about half the weaves like they were literal threads. Mali sighed. “So rude,” and she nudged her pony forward with all the air of a pissed off noble. Mali sighed and also walked in. The poor spells that had been crafted gave her only a cursorily sniff, seeming weak and dejected after Tassa had unwoven nearly half of them in an instant.

“Don’t do that Tassa. Its rude to unweave spells without asking,” Mali reminded her.

“And its rude to think they need to know everything about me,” Tassa said, “Girl must have her secrets and all.”

“Is it safe to go in?” Diylan asked.

“Completely, and now you won’t have a death spell on you until the Shade decided you’re safe,” Tassa said.

Mali looked at DiSol who looked to be testing the air with his own magic, “You broke over half our weaves,” he said.

“I did,” Tassa said without apologies as Diylan walked into DisAdo.

He stared at her, “How did you do that so quickly?” DiSol asked.

“I’m a spell smith,” Tassa said, “And my mother was a gifted unweaver, as are most Peony,” and that made DiSol come up short.

“You are Peony?” he asked.

“Yes-

“Hau-Peony,” Mali put in before Tassa had DiSol believing she was an actual member of a noble house as significant as the Peony.

“Oh,” DiSol said, an odd note in his voice Mali had never heard and didn’t know how to describe.

“Are we going to go inside or what?” Tassa asked sharply, “its freezing out.”

“This way,” DiSol said and led them to the stables, which were warm. Someone took their ponies.

“This place is bigger than I thought it’d be,” Diylan said, trying to lift the suddenly oppressive air that had fallen over them. Tassa wasn’t talking now. What the hell was her problem? No one responded to him and Diylan became silent, following DiSol down the road to the main part of the compound.

There was no one about in DisAdo at this hour, everyone having third meal in their rooms or with their family. Mali was watching Tassa through magic and saw something come to lay across Tassa’s shoulders. Tassa snapped the weave nearly as soon as it touched her and it dissipated into nothing. She was angry. Mali didn’t know what she had to be angry about though.

“I wasn’t expecting the both of you,” DiSol said as they headed for the noble apartments, an area of DisAdo Mali knew well by now, “So I only prepared one room. I’ll have them-

“No, its fine,” Tassa said, “Diylan and I can share,” and she looked at Diylan.

The red head smirked, “Yeah, we’ll be fine,” he assured DiSol.

“You’re sure?” DiSol asked over his shoulder.

“Positive,” Diylan said.

“Very well,” DiSol unlocked his apartments, “Mali has the left room, you two may use the right,” he said, pointing to a door. They went in but he stayed by the door, “You may settle in, I’ll have someone come with food,” and then he left, closing the door softly behind him.

“Are they all like that?” Diylan asked, once DiSol was gone.

“Like what?” Mali asked.

“That intense and silent?”

“Not all of them. DiSol is under a lot of pressure though. His father is dying and he’s dealing with separatists in his house who want to leave the Alliance. His own brother is off to gather and army to fight Virilia’s to try to claim their independence. Give him a break,” Mali said.

“I guess,” Diylan shrugged. “Just never met a Shade before,” he looked around the place. “How much does he know?” he asked as they sat in DiSol’s sitting room.

“About what?” Mali asked, needing him to be more specific.

“The coup.”

“Nothing. He just knows Spayar needs his lonths for his army come the spring.”

“Or earlier,” Diylan said, “How’s the harvest here?”

“Bad, like it is everywhere,” Mali frowned, “The Shade can’t pay their tithe apparently, and neither can their lords.”

“A familiar story,” Diylan said, “Most of the eastern provinces say they won’t pay their tithe. Virilia is getting angry, she sees it as rebellion.”

“Because her people aren’t as important as her power made of smoke,” Tassa said.

“Are the people angry with her?”

“Not yet,” Tassa said, “All of Assarus knows a war is coming though.”

“Too many players for it to be easy or quick,” Diylan sighed, “It’ll be a long fight for the throne. There’s Teldin, Tallalsala, Dellin, Gard, and Virilia herself. No way it won’t be a civil war.”

“Split five ways,” Mali groaned and rubbed her head, “We certainly do know how to pick friends,” and Diylan sort of laughed at that.

“We’ll be fine,” Tassa said, “Vondugard will win.”

“Yeah, how you figure that?” Diylan asked.

“Because, the bad guy always wins,” Tassa said, “And Vondugard is the worst.”

“How you figure that?” Diylan asked.

She smiled a little, “Because his _d'aelar_ will literally do anything to make sure he does. And you know how _d'aelar_ are. They’re ruthless. Even Spay,” she said it all very sweetly, and with absolute conviction that yes, Vondugard would win.

“I’d drink to that,” Diylan said as the door opened. DiSol came back in.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Mali said, “We were speaking of nothing of consequence, right?” she asked the others.

“Nothing,” Diylan agreed, “The food coming? I’m starving!”

“It is,” DiSol said, “Our third meal isn’t very much in DisAdo, but I told them to include two helpings.”

“Thanks,” Diylan said.

“Oh, Diylan,” Tassa said, “Before you leave make sure you give me my bag, since you let Hathus leave with it on.”

“Oh no,” Diylan said, a smirk growing and Mali wasn’t going to like where this was going to go, “Looks like you’ll have to sleep naked,” and Mali rubbed her head.

“I hate both of you,” she groaned, and hated them even more when Tassa laughed.


	18. The Dance Opens

With the approach of Tallalsala’s naming day Assarus started to whip itself into a frenzy that was at fever pitch today. Anyone who was anyone was going to her naming day party, meaning Spayar was forced to go even though he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be around to help inflate Tallalsala’s already large ego, but as Von’s _d’aelar_ he had to go. He had to show himself there as a stable base so that his siblings took their youngest brother seriously. 

Spayar also needed to go to make sure nothing happened to his sister, but that was something he was trying desperately not to think about.

Spayar was standing in front of his closet. Von told him to wear something nice, and colorful. Spayar didn’t like wearing colors, they looked loud with his dark skin. He owned very little color. So he was deciding how much he was going to disobey Von today. Eventually he just decided he wasn’t going to Tallalsala’s stupid naming day party to look pretty, he was going there to make a point. So he’d dress the part.

He dressed in black with a high necked vest over a iron shirt he tucked into his pants. He pulled on a dark coat over top. The only color were the dull yellow patterns on his vest. Von was going to be so mad, but Spayar didn’t care. He wasn’t going to look good next to Von, he was going to remind everyone that he existed and what his presence meant.

“Calli,” Spayar called, poking his head out of his room to down the hall where Calli’s room was.

“What?” she called back.

“How close are you to being done?” he asked.

His mother stuck her head of the Calli’s room, mirroring Spayar, “You can’t rush a girl when she’s getting ready to go to a party,” Relora scolded him.

“I’m not rushing her. When’s she going to be done? So I know when to get my horse ready,” Spayar said simply.

Relora looked back into Calli’s room and said something Spayar couldn’t hear. “Half an hour, at least,” she said.

“Okay,” and Spayar went back into his room. He pushed his hair back, slicking it with a light weave so it wouldn’t move, and grabbed one of his hats, this one black and had a rather wide circular brim. He made sure he had his weapon, and his money, before going downstairs.

Anora was downstairs with Duren and they were playing with Anora’s chimera. “Spayar,” Duren called when he saw him.

“Yeah?” Spayar asked, though he was distracted, he kept thinking about what the hell was going to happen at the party. He shouldn’t worry he knew, but he couldn’t help it.

“When can we go riding again?” he asked.

Spayar paid enough to figure that out, “After the party, okay? Sorry I’ve been really busy,” running around, kissing Von’s ass (stupid nice ass it was), worrying about keeping himself alive, and paying close attention to the rumbling going on in Assarus as well as news from all across the Alliance. The commoners were worried, and scared. Harvests were particularly bad in the west, but the east and central parts of the country weren’t much better. Food was getting more expensive. And they all knew the coup was coming, so did Virilia. There were more soldiers in Assarus than usual, and apparently Surassa was being fortified to withstand a siege should it come to that.

“Promise?” Duren asked him.

Spayar smiled a little, “I promise okay,” and he patted his brother’s head, “If Calli comes down tell her I went to get the horse ready,” and he left the house.

His mare looked at him with understanding brown eyes when he came into the shed and leaned on her tiredly. She turned her head around to nuzzle against his shoulder, “Yeah, I know,” he said, patting her nose. With a sigh he stood up straight and saddled her, taking his time in getting her ready so everything was perfect. He’d brushed her a lot earlier today so she’d look good next to all the spectacular horses he knew would be around. He might be the only one arriving on a war horse, but he didn’t care either.

“Spayar,” Duren called from the house, “Calli’s ready.”

“Okay,” he called back, his horse neighed and shook her neck. “Yeah, me too,” and he left the shed and went back inside the house.

“Wow,” Spayar said when he saw Calli, “You actaully look like an adult,” he said impressed. Joy had done good by his sister. The dress was perfect and while it wasn’t long enough to totally cover Calli’s knees it only showed part of her collar bone. Next to Spayar she looked like a bird of paradise as her dress shimmered when she walked. Thank the gods Von was paying for this, Spayar didn’t want to think about how expensive it had to be since Joy probably had to hire other people to help her with the beads all over it.

“Spayar,” Calli cried, indignant.

“She looks like a lady,” their mother cooed, petting Calli’s hair which was braided and twisted into an elegant bun.

“Spayar how come I can’t go to the party and wear a pretty dress?” Anora complained.

“Because you’re too young,” Spayar said.

“But I wanna goooo,” she whined.

Spayar rolled his eyes, “Sweetie this is Calli’s time with Spayar, just like yours is doing alchemy with him,” Relora said gently.

“But why can’t I do both?”

“Because you’re a little brat,” Calli said.

“Moooom, Calli’s being mean to me,” Anora cried.

Spayar sighed, “C’mon,” he offered Calli his hand, “Lets get going.” Calli took it.

“Hold on,” Relora said, “Let me get your father. I know he’ll want to see Calli,” and she darted down the hall to the forge where he was still working.

“You look very lovely,” Spayar told Calli, she blushed a little. “But if I find boys on you I’m going to break their hands. Both of them,” he smiled pleasantly as he said that.

“Spayar!” she groaned.

“I will. Noble men don’t care Calli. They won’t break the law, but they can be… annoying.”

“It’ll be fine. Please I have one father already I don’t need you to also-

“My,” they both looked when their father came in. For a moment he looked stunned, “Who knew my children could look so well dressed?” he asked.

“Dad,” Calli huffed.

“I’m only so under protest,” Spayar said.

“I’m sure you are, boy,” Spayar sr said and came over to them. “How old are you again?” he asked Calli.

“Fifteen, daddy,” she said.

Spayar sr frowned, “They grow up too fast, don’t they Relora?” he asked her.

“They do,” though Relora was beaming with pride.

“Spayar,” Spayar sr turned to him sternly, “You make sure nothing happens to her. Understand?”

“Yes dad,” he chuckled, “So many little lordlings are going to have broken hands tonight,” and that made his father laugh.

“Good, good,” and he clapped Spayar on the shoulder.

“Can we go now?” Calli groaned, clearly done with being coddled.

“Yes, we should. There are clouds gathering so we should leave before it rains,” Spayar agreed. “We’ll be back later tonight,” he promised.

“Good,” Spayar sr said, “Enjoy yourselves,” and he looked wistful a moment and looked over at Relora.

“Have fun sweetie,” and she kissed Calli on her cheeks and between the eyes, “I’m so proud of you,” she smiled at her daughter. “Both of you,” and she gave Spayar the same treatment.

“Bye, we’ll be back later,” Spayar said and took Calli’s hand and led her outside. He led his mare outside and helped her onto it before climbing on behind her. “Ready?” he asked his sister as he set his horse towards the palace that they could see at a distance on the high ground.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked him.

“A royal’s naming day is very different from ours,” Spayar said.

“I can handle it,” she said firmly.

“I know,” he said, or he hoped at least.

The city was fully decorated for Tallalsala’s naming day. Flowers and streamers hung from every awning and for the first time in weeks the streets were filled more with the sounds of joy and laughter than worry or contempt. For today at least everyone was happy and the growing food shortage was forgotten in favor of celebration. The streets were filled with people even with rain clouds looming, street long air markets filled with food stands and temporary stalls that sold this or that. Jewelry and toys and and knick knacks were sold from rugs laid out on the street or set out on little tables.

Music came from every store front and every few blocks there seemed to be a stage where musicians played or sang as loudly as they could. In front of the stages there were usually two or three people dancing, twisting about and clapping their hands, long ribbons attached to wrists or ankles or belts or looped through coats or clothes writhing in the space the dancers had just occupied. Spayar had not seen the city this joyous in a long time, perhaps not since Gurrin, the youngest prince, had been born eight years ago.

And yet it was like the entire city was holding its breath, like it knew this was the last joy it would see for some time. The people knew war was on the horizon where the first blood would come any day now. So the city sat poised and amid the singing and dancing and eating and celebrating there was this undercurrent of fear. Fear that soon their country would be torn apart by the very ones who wanted to rule it. And in the wake of a bad harvest starvation was a fate that might be more common than death in a fight.

“Its so nice out,” Calli said, as they rode past some street performers, ones juggling axes. “Everyone seems so happy,” she turned back and smiled at him.

“That they do,” he agreed, though did not smile back.

“You are going to be the drabbest person at the party,” Calli informed him. He shrugged, “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Not really.”

She sat in a thoughtful silence a moment before saying, “If you’re going to break the hands of any lordling who touches me inappropriately-

“No no,” Spayar said, though allowed his sarcasm to come though, “I’m going to break the hands of any lordling who touches you _period_.”

She huffed, “What about if they have more interest in you? Hmm? Going to break their hands as well?”

Spayar chuckled, “I do not flirt with nobility,” Spayar said, “and they have no interest in me,” he added.

She twisted in the saddle and Spayar had to lean around her so he didn’t run over anyone in the street. “Why not? You’re not bad looking, brother,” she frowned.

“I’m a commoner,” Spayar started, “And I’m his royal highness Vondugard’s _d’aelar_.”

“So? Doesn’t that basically make you a noble?” she asked.

“In a sense,” he agreed and stopped when a group shambled across the street, already so high they could barely walk. “But it means I am Vondugard’s vassal. And thus, am dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“You know what happens when a Asuras gains the throne, right?” she nodded, “And what happens to the losers?” she nodded again, “What do you think would happen to me or anyone who associated with me?” In front of him Calli stiffened. “I know you’ve thought about it,” and he gave her a light hug.

“A bit… Momma tells me not to though,” she admitted, “That Vondugard’s death wouldn’t effect us much.”

Spayar chuckled, “You wouldn’t be able to live here anymore,” Spayar said, “Not Assarus at least, and in the capitals you’d never be able to say my name. Our father wouldn’t get much work, not like he does now. He’d be a common smith, the maker of nails and pans and kitchen knives. You’d be _expected_ to take your husband’s name instead of only if you wanted to, and Duren might even take his wife’s. To be related to me would be shameful, embarrassing.”

“But you aren’t any of those things,” Calli said, turning her head to look at him, They’d entered Fey’s Shadow now, and left behind most of the festivities, as most of the inhabitants of Fey’s Shadow would be going to the party.

“I might not be. But you’d have to pretend I was. I would be the _d'aelar_ of a _traitor_ , and that would be a traitor as well, one of the lowest form. One who would seek to kill the rightful Asuras.”

“Vondugard is the rightful Asuras,” Calli said with conviction.

Spayar grinned, “Yes he is,” he agreed. “But that’s why lordlings want nothing to do with me. If I go down, they could as well. Also most of them are really shitty in bed-

“Brother!” she cried, scandalized as he laughed. “I thought you didn’t have anything to do with lordlings.”

“Sometimes they have a bit too much to smoke and don’t know what they’re doing. I’m always happy to oblige them even if they sometimes, in their stupid, high, haze, think I’m a woman. Nothing to tell our parents about.”

“Oh? And who’s the best you’ve had?”

He leaned around to give her a loo , “Do you really want to know?” he asked, brows raised.

She thought a moment, “Yes,” she said.

“Me and Von went to Peonia recently. There was a _very_ cute Peonian there. He was probably the best.”

“But you had to pay for it,” Calli said.

“So? No shame in paying for a good time,” he shrugged, “Remember that when you’re married to a man with a little dick and doesn’t know how to please you. It isn’t illegal if you pay for it.”

“Spayar,” she sighed, “and momma said I should emulate you,” Spayar laughed.

“No no, Calli, don’t emulate me. Don’t ever do that,” and they were close to the palace now.

“This is the first time I’ve been to the Winter Palace,” Calli said, “its beautiful.”

“I like the Summer Palace more,” Spayar admitted.

“Shut up Spayar,” Calli said and Spayar was silent to let his sister enjoy the first sight of the palace up close. Spayar had spent way too much time in this place growing up to find it too spectacular anymore.

The Winter Palace was low and wide, surrounded by acres of spectacular gardens. Graceful, engaged, columns held up a roof of red tiles and framed large windows that looked into the palace with was rectangular in shape. It surrounded a great courtyard in which sat a spiraling tower that looked like a piece of wire twisted over and over, and capped with a golden dome. Calli sat up a bit straighter as they rode so she could see everything, Spayar was just watching where they were going, which was becoming more crowded with horses and carriages.

Eventually they got through the front gardens, up the long drive and to a small courtyard that was enclosed by a metal fence and an intricate gate. The center of the gate showed a unicorn sitting in a sun, which itself was also a crescent moon. When open the sun and moon separated, as they were now. There was an army of holsters in royal liverly out front to take horses or to help people out of their carriages.

Spayar pulled his mare up and a holster came to hold her bridle while another approached to help Calli down. She slid down with a huff and then Spayar dismounted. He adjusted his hat once he was on the ground. “Sir,” the holster said, “What’s the name of your horse, so we can get her when you leave.”

“Uh-

“Relora,” Calli blurted out, “Her name is Relora.”

“Very well,” the holster then led Spayar’s horse off.

“Relora, really?” Spayar asked, offering Calli his arm, she put her hand on his arm. “Our mother will be _thrilled_ you named my horse after her.”

“Sorry, I panicked,” she said miserably. With Dirinnans you weren’t supposed to name someone or thing else after a family member until they were dead. Doing so otherwise was bad luck. “Don’t tell her she’ll have a heart attack,” she groaned.

“I won’t tell her,” Spayar said, a bit amused, since his parents and the few other Dirinnans in the Alliance were the only people who had such a superstition. “Now I know this is a party, but stay in the courtyard,” he said, “all sorts of things happen in the side rooms at these things.”

“Like what?” Calli asked.

“Things you probably wouldn’t like,” Spayar said flatly. Courtesans always came to naming day parties, and there was always a lot of drugs and sometimes even alcohol. It could get out of hand. “Just trust me on that okay? And don’t go anywhere with anyone.”

“Why?” Calli challenged him.

“Because I don’t want to have to hunt you down when we leave.”

“Okay,” and they arrived in front of the palace doors, which were wide open like they never usually were.

The party was taking place in the great courtyard which most of the palace encircled. There was a band and entertainers, and on one side was all the food and the cakes, each more spectacular than the last ending in a life sized replica of Tallalsala herself. On the other side of the courtyard was a table that spiraled upwards like a cone and was laden with gifts. 

“Spayar,” Calli said gripping his arm tightly as they walked through the palace to the courtyard down a long foyer. Four hallways leading from the entrance hall led deeper into the palace off either side. “I didn’t bring a gift for her highness.”

“I did,” Spayar said and patted her arm, “Don’t worry, you didn’t really need to. Most of those Tallalsala bought herself, or are empty.”

“Really?” she asked, sounding worried.

“Yes, now lets find Vondugard and then you can go off. He said since he paid for your dress he gets to see you in it.”

“He wasn’t mad when you told him the price, did you?” she asked worriedly as they stepped into the courtyard at last. Everywhere there was color, and the people at the party were as dazzling as a rainbow.

“Of course not,” and to find the prince quicker Spayar muttered his tracking spell. The arrow sprung up on his hand and he guided Calli around the courtyard to a corner where the music was a bit muted. Sitting on some low couches was Von and Diylan as well as a few of Von’s noble friends who weren’t trusted enough to know the going ons of the prince’s life or plot of his coup. They were all smoking.

“Spayar! Ah, there you are, I was wondering when you’d get here,” Von cried and jumped to his feet. “And you’re wearing black,” he complained with a mighty groan. “I thought I told you not to wear black,” he folded his arms.

“Yet another way I fail you, my lord,” Spayar said.

“You’re a shit head- and who is this? Is this Calli?” she smiled and nodded, “Gods, don’t you just look like Andonine. I didn’t even recognize you!”

“You flatter me,” she said shyly, gripping Spayar’s arm hard.

“If I knew your brother wouldn’t hate me forever I’d-

“Von,” Spayar growled before Von could be a creep.

“What? I was going to say make her my queen,” and he gave Spayar a look that made Spayar glower at him. Calli laughed. “Both of you, come, sit,” and he ushered them onto one of the empty couches. “Spayar, I’m sure you know everyone, even if you’ve never met,” Von started and Spayar rolled his eyes, but didn’t tell Von he wouldn’t have. “Miss Calli, this is Dakil Nor, Sammur Fesh, Nobin Lallin, Diylan Rasten, and Abirid North,” Von said naming each person there and Spayar didn’t like how they (except Diylan because he knew what was good for him) were looking at his sister. “And this is Calli Hillsman, my _d’aelar_ ’s sister,” and that had them all looking like someone had just stepped on their dicks. Spayar grinned and leaned back, happy to know that none of them would be messing with his little sister.

“Hello Calli, I must say you are very lovely,” Abirid said leaning forward to take her hand with great gentleness and kissed it. Calli blushed, “Where has Spayar been hiding you this whole time?”

“Somewhere far from you,” Spayar told him. Though of them Abirid was the most handsome, with his dark hair and deeply tanned skin. He was also the least dangerous since he was more likely to sleep with Spayar than he was with Calli. “Be nice Abirid,” he added.

“Oh, then will you be nice to me oh great _d’aelar_?” Abirid asked and gods damned he hated this guy sometimes. Like he hated Von actually.

“I’m not nice to anyone,” Spayar said with a slightly forced smile.

“Such a pleasure to meet you Calli, I hope you are far more fair and kind than your brother,” Abirid said and let go of Calli’s hand.

“You,” Von said as Dakil moved to sit next to his sister, “need to relax,” and nearly against his will Von put a pipe in his hand. He looked at Von and Von was staring back intently. “She’ll be fine,” he reminded him, “She’s _your_ sister. Like they’d do anything.”

“They’d try at least,” and Spayar did take a draw of the pipe. Mallium. “Well no wonder you’re in a good mood,” Spayar told Von, since mallium was his favorite.

“What do you mean you don’t smoke?” Dakil was suddenly asking, head cocked at Calli.

“My family doesn’t really smoke,” she said, slightly awkward. “Our parents are from Dirin, they don’t smoke either.”

Dakil was looking at Calli like she’d just told him the sun wasn’t Anceion’s throne. “Spayar what is wrong with your sister?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my sister. She doesn’t smoke,” Spayar said even as he blew out smoke.

“I’d say that makes plenty of things wrong with your sister,” Dakil said. “Would you like to try some mallium, Calli?” he asked.

Calli turned and looked at Spayar, he just shrugged, he’d been against smoking for a while when he was younger, since his parents were. But he didn’t see the point of being so. But then his parents also drank, and he didn’t know anyone really who drank. The entire Alliance smoked and did drugs, it was just what they did to relax, not to mention it was socially unacceptable for magi to drink. Calli wasn’t a magi though, she could drink or smoke if she wanted. She looked back at Dakil, “Okay,” she said.

Spayar tuned out Dakil and Calli by force. He didn’t want to watch this happen. “You just had to disobey me didn’t you?” Von asked after Spayar had smoked a little. Spayar just ‘hmmmed’ in confusion. “You’re wearing _black_ ,” Von said, annoyed.

“I look good in black,” Spayar said and he felt Calli get up. He looked long enough to see Nobin leading his sister away. “Calli,” he called, she turned back to him, “remember what we talked about.”

“I do,” she said, “We’re just going to dance and no you can’t break his hands.”

He glanced over at Nobin, “I will later,” he said and went back to his pipe since Nobin was actually a good guy. Stupid as all hell, but good. Hard to find good nobles in the Alliance. Abirid moved to sit next to Spayar, pushing his legs out in front of him.

“Do you even _own_ anything with color?” Von was saying.

“Um… I own a vest, its red and black and doesn’t fit anymore. I’m saving it for Duren,” he shrugged.

“I’m burning your clothes and getting you new ones. This is ridiculous. It looks like I have a shadow following me around instead of a man,” Von huffed.

“But aren’t I though?” Spayar asked.

“I’m still ordering new clothes, because this is ridiculous,” Von said irritably.

Spayar looked to Diylan for sympathy, “Just get him high, he’ll forget,” Diylan said with a grin.

“Probably,” Spayar laughed and handed the pipe back to Von who protested a moment, still upset Spayar was wearing black, until Spayar convinced him to shut up and smoke.

Spayar leaned back now that Von was preoccupied, putting his head back. Overhead the clouds that had been gathering were thick  and the golden dome at the top of the tower was glowing lightly, meaning it was raining. But no rain fell on the palace and had not fallen on it in hundreds of years. “I know your prince doesn’t like you in black, but I do,” Abirid said and Spayar looked at him.

“Save your breath,” Spayar said.

“What can’t take a compliment?” Abirid asked.

“Not from overly ambitious lordlings I don’t,” Spayar said.

Abirid frowned, “I’m just being nice.”

“You are,” Spayar agreed and then glanced over at Von who was now engrossed in someone else, “What do you want Abirid?” he asked, because nobles didn’t want anything to do with him usually. Everyone wanted to at least say they’d slept with a prince, even if they didn’t want to be involved with him. But few wanted to have said they slept with Spayar, too risky, since even in death Von was more respectable than him. Abirid was only showing interest because he wanted something.

“Why would you think I wanted anything?”

“Because nobles always want something. Now c’mon, I don’t bite.”

“What if I’m into that?” Abirid grinned with his teeth and Spayar could see how some had been filed to points and he’d gotten a bone mage to enlarge his canines.

“Spayar,” he turned when Von called him, “Go get me something to eat would you?”

Spayar got up, not even thinking that no he shouldn’t. “I’ll be right back,” he said and left the sofas. The food tables was an overabundance of food that these people would never finish. There were delicacies from all over the Alliance. Oranges, river mussels, candy apples, hilltop boar, barking deer, and after that Spayar just lost track, there was too much because he was high. Which is why he didn’t notice Abirid following him until he’d reached the food and slithered up beside him.

“What do I have to do to get rid of you?” Spayar asked Abirid.

“I could think of some things,” Abirid said and Spayar yelped in absolute surprise when Abirid reached around and grabbed his ass. Abirid laughed, “You can’t be that surprised can you?”

Spayar shook him off and started to scan the food for things Von would like, “What do you want Abirid? You don’t want to fuck because you like me, so just come out with it. I don’t like games.”

Abirid frowned, “I’m not stupid, Hillsman,” he said, suddenly very sober and serious. “Everyone’s picking sides, and I want to pick the right one.”

Spayar looked at him, “Well you’ll have to figure that out on your own.”

“Is the prince the right side?”

“Don’t insult me by asking me that,” Spayar looked away from him.

Abirid kept pressing, “What’s he going to do?”

“Do? Nothing. Vondugard isn’t doing anything. Now excuse me you’re making this hunt to satisfy a picky eater harder than it has to be,” and he brushed Abirid off.

He got some stuff on a plate, things that wouldn’t make a mess when Von inevitably dropped them all over himself. With how high he would be Spayar knew it would happen. Then Abirid was back, he was getting annoyed by this guy. “So you have nothing to say about what the heirs are doing?”

Spayar looked at him, “If I did it’d be no concern of yours Abirid. If you were someone who should know about what’s going on, I assume you’d be told already, and since you don’t know, you probably won’t. Now do piss off before you make me angry and find someone else’s dick to suck.”

Abirid glowered, “Don’t talk like that to me _peasant_.”

Spayar grabbed Abirid by the collar and yanked him forward so his face was inches from Spayar’s, and he fit under the brim of Spayar’s hat. “Do not call me that,” he said in a low, threatening, voice. “Do not confuse my servitude to the crown prince for complacence, or meekness. I am everything as every _d'aelar_ has been before me and I do not take kindly to backwoods nobles thinking they can spit insults in my face,” and then he pushed Abirid away so the young noble stumbled a little bit didn’t fall. Spayar then turned from him and finished getting Von food. 

Abirid didn’t bother him again and when he went back to the corner he wasn’t even there. Instead there was a new group of young nobles, along with his sister who was sitting next to Von, his arm around her shoulders. “Ah, there you are, what took you?” Von asked.

“Abirid was bothering me,” Spayar said and sat next to Diylan, who wasn’t smoking and was sitting near Von, “Here,” he handed Von the plate.

“Ah, lovely,” and started to eat, “Would you like some, Calli?” he asked.

“Something happen?” Diylan asked when Spayar didn’t smoke any more even when asked.

“Just Abirid being stupid. I dealt with it.”

“I don’t doubt. He’s a harmless idiot though, you know that. And a terrible flirt.”

Spayar gave Diylan a look, “Don’t start, I am so not in the mood.”

Diylan just smirked, “Oh c’mon Spayar, relax and live a little,” he put his arm around the back of the couch and brushed against Spayar’s shoulder. “This might be the last day you get to party for a long time, you should enjoy it.”

“Don’t say that,” Spayar said softly.

“Hmm?”

“No really, don’t feed my paranoia about today. I’ve had a bad feeling all week.”

Diylan’s lips went thin and he leaned in close, tipping back Spayar’s hat, “About what? Hmm?” he asked, nearly speaking in Spayar’s ear.

“Just a bad feeling, like a storm is coming,” he licked his lips. “I know I’m just being overly sensitive though.”

“Probably,” Diylan said and ran his hand across Spayar’s shoulder.

“Tallalsala won’t do something on her own naming day though. Right?”

“Doubtful,” Diylan said.

“… Didn’t I tell you to not?” Spayar asked, since Diylan was practically nuzzling him.

“Yeah, but I decided you’re too cute to abide by that,” and he could see Diylan grin out of the corner of his eye. 

Spayar rolled his eyes. “So not into it,” and he pushed Diylan’s face away. 

Diylan made an annoyed noise. “Such a kill joy Spayar,” Diylan said.

“I’m not here to have fun,” Spayar said bluntly, “I’m here to chaperone my sister and the prince.”

“You need to relax,” Diylan said and put his arm more firmly around Spayar’s shoulders and squeezed. “You’re not even twenty yet, at this rate you’ll have silver hair before me; and I’m a Drake,” he gave Spayar a look.

Spayar rubbed his eyes, “I know,” he said lowly. “Blame Von.”

“I do, everyday,” Diylan said. “But really, relax. Its a party, and you’re wearing black and looking like a crow. A very handsome crow, but a crow all the same.”

“Diylan-” he sighed.

“Hey Gard,” Diylan called, Von was talking with his sister over the food, no doubt telling her what was in it, since he doubted Calli had ever seen half the things. “Order your _d'aelar_ to dance with me.”

“Diylan-

“Why is he being grumpy?”

“Of course he is,” Diylan grinned.

Von looked at Spayar and Spayar was alternating who he was glaring at. Then Von grinned, “That sounds like a great idea. Spayar, go enjoy yourself. I’ll keep an eye on Calli,” he patted her knee.

“Actually,” she said, “If Spayar’s going to dance I want to watch,” she smiled. He scowled at her too and crossed his arms.

“C’mon Spayar,” and Diylan pulled him to his feet, “Live a little,” and he tugged Spayar’s hat off and dropped it on Von’s golden head.

“Hey!” Spayar tried to snatch it back but Diylan pulled him away from the corner. Calli trailed after them, smiling.

“Can you even dance Spayar?” she asked him once Diylan had let Spayar go, as Spayar had resigned himself to just doing it because he wouldn’t get out of it.

“Of course I can dance,” Spayar said, insulted.

“I’ve seen it myself,” Diylan said, “He’s surprisingly graceful.”

“My brother? You must be thinking of someone else,” Calli giggled.

Spayar gave her a look, “Unlike you little sister, I’ve had dancing lessons,” more of the lessons he’d had to take as a child to make himself who he was on top of his normal schooling. Fighting with swords and fists and magic, warcraft, statecraft, dancing, singing (he was particularly bad at that though), politics, all manner of academics, the list just went on and on till his two year stay at Galinsum to meet the alchemists and learn their ways.

“And yet you still sometimes fall over your own feet in when you have take your morning piss,” Calli said with a smug smile. Spayar gave her an unimpressed look. 

“Why did I let you come here again?” he asked her.

“Because you love me,” and she went to grab his hand. “Now are you going to show me you can dance better than me or leave me in suspense?”

Spayar groaned, “Fine,” he said and pulled her to the part of the courtyard that had been designated the dance floor. 

Spayar had heard music from several other countries and from all over the Alliance, and the sound of the northern capital was his favorite. It was quick and most of the beat was provided by the drums and clapping hands and stomping feet of the dancers. Most of the music was percussion with some winds and strings that made your bones rattle and body want to twist, which was good because most of the dances around the northern capital were twisting and moving your hips. 

While Spayar didn’t always enjoy dancing, he admitted it felt good to not have to worry about what was going on around him, if only for a little while. Calli looked absolutely shocked that Spayar could dance and that actually made him laugh. He held his sister’s hands, waving their arms back and forth between them while their hips moved in opposite to them to the beat of the bass drums and the dancers clapping.

He was happy to see Calli so happy while they danced. He was glad he’d let her come now, she was having fun and Spayar admitted he didn’t hate it. Calli enjoying herself did do a lot to make him enjoy it more though, since he didn’t think about the storm roiling around him when he danced with his sister. He was just happy she was happy and that made his paranoia fade away since what could happen during such a joyous occasion? Not even Tallalsala was so stupid as to ruin her own naming day.

“I’m going to punch you in the face,” Spayar growled when Diylan put his hands on Spayar’s hips.

“No you aren’t,” Diylan grinned, “Calli go find some boy to dance with, I get to dance with your brother now.”

“Have fun,” she grinned and giggled and bounced off.

“Diylan,” Spayar said in a warning tone.

“Shut up and enjoy yourself,” and Spayar could feel his grin against his neck.

“You know you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Spayar said.

“Probably. But I still have a better chance than someone like _Abirid_.”

“I do have some standards thanks,” Spayar said, a bit insulted and made a surprised noise when Diylan pressed up against his back, “Diylan,” he growled.

“I like watching you dance,” Diylan said into his ear, having to lean down a bit to be on level with Spayar since like all flighters Diylan was freakishly tall, and Spayar wasn’t exactly short. “And I’d like it a lot more if you danced with me.”

“If this is some grand scheme to get into my pants do save it,” Spayar said.

“So that’s a never? Or just not tonight?”

Spayar actually did need to think about that for a moment, “Not tonight,” he said because even he could admit Diylan was cute. Not his type exactly, but pretty cute.

“Excellent!” Diylan said, “In the meantime dance with me,” and he started to move his hips. Spayar hung his head for a moment, stupid flighter. Diylan was nothing if not persistent so like with his sister Spayar just decided to not fight it. He turned around though and Diylan grinned at him. “Your prince is going to be happy you’re enjoying yourself,” Diylan told him.

“Only under protest,” Spayar said raising his hands to clap with the beat.

“I bet if he was dancing with you you’d be into it,” Diylan said and then before Spayar could say anything to that he added, “And might not be the only thing you’d be into.” Diylan laughed loudly at Spayar’s face.

“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spayar said.

“Not like Gard would get it even if I said it to his face. Boy’s relationship stupid,” Diylan said, enjoying himself and Spayar let Diylan grab his hands. “You want I can go get him,” and he smirked when Spayar squeezed his hands.

“Don’t you dare,” Spayar said. Not that he wouldn’t mind, but he preferred Von to be a bit oblivious. He knew Von, and the prince would just make it awkward if he knew Spayar had feelings for him. He didn’t have the time or patience to deal with Von working through a gay crisis. Not in this political landscape.

“I wouldn’t,” Diylan promised and Spayar gave him a look even as he kept the beat, Diylan still holding his hands. Diylan wasn’t a good dancer. He knew the basics but he wasn’t good at it, at least Calli was graceful even if she didn’t know the dance exactly, but Diylan didn’t couldn’t do either. So they sometimes ran into each other and Spayar was half sure that Diylan was doing that on purpose.

They collided at one point and Diylan wrapped an arm around Spayar’s waist, so they couldn’t twist away like they were supposed to. Spayar recognized the look in Diylan’s eye and reached down between them and grabbed Diylan’s crotch, and not in a friendly way. “Don’t even think about what you’re thinking about,” Spayar said warningly.

“Let me go and I won’t,” Diylan said, his voice a little higher than normal.

“Just… keep your hands to yourself now,” and Spayar twisted away. “I’m done now. Tired,” and it wasn’t like he was lying since dancing was tiring and he was hungry and sweaty.

Diylan nodded and they made their way out of the group of people to the food tables. “Though be frank with me,” Diylan said as they both grabbed plates, ones as nice as Spayar had ever eaten on when he dined with Von. Shame so much of this fine porcelain was going to end up smashed from the party. “But would you actually do it?”

“Do it- Honestly I don’t know who’s worse, you or Tassa. Do you two actually think about anything _but_ sex?”

“Its a good time,” Diylan shrugged, “I’m all about having a good time and flighters think about sex _a lot_. I swear half my brothers in leather might as well be gay for how often they talk about penis, especially theirs. I don’t need to see any of them naked because they’ll freely tell you what it looks like.”

“Though add like three inches, right?” Spayar asked with a smirk.

“They do yeah,” and Spayar chuckled, “Though most of them barely use it. Once they get sons they don’t care as much,” he shrugged.

“Poor things,” Spayar said, slightly sarcastic. 

“And you still didn’t answer the question,” Diylan elbowed Spayar lightly, “Also don’t eat those, they taste like shit even made by wyrm mothers, I doubt some southern feylon could make them good,” and Spayar looked to see what ‘those’ were. They were strange little balls of meat in some sort of pale sauce. Spayar made a face, he didn’t like the looks of them either. “Would you fuck the prince?”

Spayar looked up at him, “What do you think?” Spayar asked him plainly.

“Frankly? You sometimes look like a man dying of thirst,” Spayar scowled at him. “Not like you have to maintain his virtue anymore,” Diylan scoffed, “You know how high he gets. I bet he wouldn’t even notice.”

Spayar frowned at him, “Being so high you don’t know what’s going on isn’t consent and is thus me breaking the law,” Diylan opened his mouth to object, “Don’t argue, I know way more about the laws than you do since you concern yourself with the laws of Dodorum. You got enough food?” he glanced down at Diylan’s plate which was full of food. Diylan pulled a look but followed Spayar when went back to where Von had set up his own little court.

Von was still there, now significantly more inhibriated, but he perked up when he saw Spayar and Spayar hated him for looking so cute when he was high. “Spayar! Have fun dancing?”

“No-

“He was fantastic,” Diylan said and clapped Spayar on the shoulder, “Showed his sister right up with his fancy feet.”

Von stared at him before burst into giggles, “Really? That’s great! Just great. Is that for me? I’m hungry,” and while it was wasn’t Spayar had things on his plate he knew Von would want anyway.

“Some of it,” Spayar sighed and slid into the seat next to Von. He smacked Von’s fingers when he went to grab something, “You won’t like that, here,” and he put a tart in Von’s hand. It was almost too pretty to eat with shiny berries topped with little wisps of whipped cream. Von ate it in two bites and Spayar sighed again as he ate his own food. He gave Von the sweet things he’d brought back knowing Von would want the sugar, especially as high as he was, and nothing would stain his clothes when he dropped it on himself. Which he did with a little puffed pastry filled with something red and gooey. Von popped it into his mouth before it rolled onto the ground.

At some point Spayar found his hat again and put it on, leaning back on the couch next to Von. The prince talked animatedly to those in his little court, all of them second or third children of nobles, sometimes a first born would show up before deciding to not get involved. Von mainly talked about what he wanted to do as Asuras, which was nothing new. Von had been talking about the changes and things he wanted to do when he took the throne since before Spayar had met him. In the past ten years though it’d gone from ‘a throne made of cookies and chocolate’ and other childish, base, desires, to ‘I want to find a way to end the blood feud between the Drake and Rosalia’  and things that would actually benefit the Alliance. All the royal children talked an extravagant game, it was how they gained support. Here with the lower children there wasn’t much any need for as hard of the hustle but they’d go back to their parents and tell them what Von had said. When the time came to pick sides Spayar hoped they picked theirs. Spayar just sat next to him, in silence, his presence speaking more than he needed to say.

“Wow,” Von said at some point when there wasn’t anyone new to talk to. By now it was dark and large alchemic lights had been suspended in the air over the courtyard by magic, casting the entire place in brilliant light.

“What?” Spayar asked.

“I haven’t talked this much in a long time.”

Spayar gave him a look, “Are you sure? Cause I can never get you to shut up.”

“Hey! Spayar,” he whined, “Don’t be mean.”

“Of course your highness,” Spayar said with a smirk.

“And don’t give me that ‘your highness’ bullshit. You know I hate it.”

“I do,” Spayar grinned.

“Dick,” Von muttered to himself.

“He’ll show you one if you want,” Diylan piped in and Spayar’s boot connected with Diylan’s shin. “Ow!” he yelped.

“Oh, I’m sorry Diylan, did that hurt?” Spayar asked, head cocked a bit.

“Read the Red Book,” Diylan growled at him, rubbing his leg.

“What will you show me?” Von asked Spayar, turned to look at him, his blue eyes wide and curious. Spayar hated them both so much. Hated Diylan for being an instigator and hated Von for being so high he barely knew what was going on. Quen was laughing at him, he could practically hear her, mocking him. What a bitch. Where was Densinn’s quick tongue when he needed it?

“Nothing, Von,” and he patted Von’s arm. “Diylan’s just being a fool.”

“Oh… okay,” Von shrugged with a smile.

“What in Anceion’s dick is that?” someone asked and Spayar looked towards the tower at the center of the courtyard. Up on the tower a slice of it had been made transparent and inside it was Tallalsala. Though she was facing away from them, towards the larger crowd of people in the front of the courtyard. Above them the storm that had just promised a light rain was now a torrent, dark clouds illuminated by the glowing balls roiling like a pot of boiling water. 

Spayar felt a piece of ice drop into his stomach when someone joined Tallalsala up there, standing next to her. Tallalsala spoke, her voice amplified by magic for everyone to hear and Spayar felt a cold hand wrap around his heart.


	19. Ashes in Your Mouth

Spayar was having a hard time remembering what had happened in the past half hour. It was all just a blur, with a lot of running and yelling and more than a little death. He still couldn’t believe what Tallalsala had done. What she’d started. He could still see her holding Obi’s head aloft and declaring open war on her brothers and mother. Thinking of it made it hard to breathe, hard to think. He had a job to do though, and he cleared his head because he couldn’t think about Obi or the other Le’Acard. 

Yet he couldn’t move. He was on his knees in one of the many pools of blood in the big courtyard, eyes unseeing. He was supposed to be up, looking for someone. He held a sword he didn’t remember getting and it was bloody. Right, he was the reason there was this large pool of blood right here, after he’d found Calli it’d all sort of blurred together.

The courtyard was mostly empty, except for some people like Spayar, who’d weeded out those who didn’t side with their Asuras. He looked around slowly and rubbed his head, drawing blood across his face, trying to recall everything that had happened.

He remembered, Tallalsala, speaking, though he’d barely been listening to the words. Even as she’d beheaded her sister, stupid, ignorant, Obi, Spayar had been grabbing Von to his feet and he just remembered telling Diylan to go. Go and take Von away from here, to the west, where they had allies. After he’d gone to look for Calli and found her. He’d found her.

“My,” he looked up blearily at a smooth voice above him, sounding pleased and surprised. He was lucid but he still felt like he was in the middle of a dream, “My dear brother certainly does know how to pick them,” Tallalsala said. Tallalsala was like something from a straight man’s dream, with long legs and neck and shaped like a pear, her hair almost the color of a shiny copper atrin. She had Von’s pretty blue eyes too, which annoyed him. Next to her she had her arm around Calli’s shoulders. His sister looked like she’d been crying, her makeup running and her eyes bloodshot.

Spayar lurched to his feet, and slipped a little in the blood before finding his feet. He leveled the sword at Tallalsala’s neck, “Let my sister go, right now,” he said, heart suddenly racing.

Tallalsala had a horrible laugh, it was nasally and cruel, “I think not,” she said with a devious smile, holding Calli close. “She and I just became friends you see-

“Let her go, _now_. She has nothing to do with this Tallalsala,” Spayar talked right over her.

That annoyed her, “Don’t talk to me like that, Spayar,” and Calli squeaked, her eyes suddenly becoming very wide and Spayar didn’t have to look with magic to see what she was doing.

“Stop… just- just stop,” Spayar lowered his sword, totally helpless in front of someone like Tallalsala. Calli gasped when Tallalsala stopped doing whatever she’d been doing and looked about to cry again, but didn’t. No doubt Tallalsala had yelled at her, and hurt her, for crying.

“Better,” Tallalsala said with a cruel smile. “Now, are you going to behave?”

Spayar looked at Calli hopelessly and just to make sure looked at her through magic. Hanging around his sister’s neck was a weave with teeth, gently touching the skin and at any moment the spell could snap shut and break Calli’s neck. He didn’t dare touch the weave, out of fear doing so would trigger it. Calli’s eyes pleaded with him. Save me.

He sighed and hung his head, “Yes, my lady,” he said like Tallalsala had just stepped on him.

“Good,” Tallalsala said, “Now make sure any stragglers have been dealt with, and then clean yourself. You’re covered in blood, its disgusting.

“Yes, my lady,” he said mechanically and met her eyes with all the defiance he could muster.

“Good. Come find me when you’re done,” and Tallalsala left him, dragging Calli with her. Calli looked over her shoulder at him, trying to keep him in sight until they were too far away.

With a roar Spayar threw the sword, it went end over end and clattered on the courtyard stones which just recently had been so pretty and clean. Now they were splashed with blood and shit. Spayar ran his hands through his hair, disrupting the delicate weave he’d placed on it so at last it could contain some of the discourse he felt in his heart. 

His sister was Tallalsala’s prisoner, his prince was gone (somewhere safe he hoped), he had no friends or allies in the city anymore. He’d never felt so helpless and defeated in his entire life. He could do _nothing_. He couldn’t even keep his own sister safe.

“You there,” Spayar looked up from his own misery when someone approached him. Narn Alverin, Tallalsala’s second in command and clearly her archon if the presumptive medallion attached to his coat was any indication. “Ah, _d’aelar_ ,” he said, amused and Spayar hated them. He hated all of them, and especially he hated Tallalsala.

“What?” he asked in a short, hard, tone, he was in no mood to play games.

“Her majesty has has ordered you to attend me while the others ensure that the palace safe for her and her supporters,” he said.

He wanted to tell Narn that Tallalsala could shove it. But he couldn’t. He’d told the, then, princess, that he would obey in exchange for his sister’s safety. He grit his teeth, “What do you want me to do, so I can do it quickly?”

Narn looked to be enjoying Spayar’s agony quite a bit and Spayar loathed the man for it. Narn smiled, showing off his missing tooth from when he’d lost it in a fight was he’d been a younger man, “Just stay with me, part of the Clan are coming in from the north and I’m supposed to meet them and make sure they make it here safe. They might even mistake you for their own with how wild you are,” he smirked.

“If they do then they know I’m better than you, because to them only a true leader gets blood on his face,” Spayar said and Narn smacked him.

“Watch your tongue boy. Tallalsala might like you, but I won’t stand for your lip.” Breathing heavily, slightly bent over, Spayar touched his lower lip where it now bled. “Now retrieve your sword. The Clan are approaching and its still raining.”

“Sir,” he growled it.

“Meet me in front of the palace,” and then he strode off his purpose and barked something at some people as he walked but Spayar wasn’t paying attention. He licked his lips, tasting blood, and touched his mouth. His hand came away bloody, but was covered in more blood than he could produce from a split lip. All his clothes would be useless after tonight. What a stupid thought, that he would be worried about such a thing.

Spayar went and got the sword he’d thrown and wiped it, it did nothing but smear the blood, the silver blade mocking him. He wiped it with his shirt instead of his jacket to actually clean it, he had no scabbard so he just held it as he followed after Narn. As he walked he pulled out his coin purse and pulled out a golden atrin. He was emotional enough to not even need to say a word before tearing off a piece of the coin and rolling the gold into a ball, the size of his little finger nail.

“Pay attention Densinn,” Spayar said as he put the gold up to his mouth and swallowed it, “and accept my offering and give me a golden tongue,” he put his purse back into his pocket.

Narn was waiting for him, calling orders, strutting about, looking important with his golden and rubied medallion. Spayar wasn’t impressed. Narn didn’t look like he knew what he was doing, but was making a show of looking like he did. 

“Where are our horses?” Spayar asked when he came up to the would-be Archon. Narn looked flustered. He’d forgotten about them, clearly he was more interested in looking impressive than doing his job. “Holster!” Spayar yelled, startling some very shaken looking stable hands. “Retrieve the Archon’s and my horses,” they hesitated, “Now!” and they jumped to their feet and ran off to the stables.

Spayar looked back at Narn smugly; that was how you did it. Narn glared at him. He was going to make this man hate him, but it wouldn’t matter in the end. Spayar would kill him when the time came. Him and Tallalsala. “Don’t overstep yourself, boy,” Narn said.

“Overstep myself?” Spayar asked, sounding scandalized, “I merely did a duty that is clearly beneath you by arranging for our horses so we don’t leave the Clan waiting,” Narn’s glare intensified. “Which tribes are we meeting?” he carried on, ad though Narn wasn’t trying to will him to catch him on fire.

“The Barou, Clevenger, and Dac’ull,” Narn said in a tight tone.

“The Asuras plays a dangerous game aligning herself with such tribes,” Spayar said mildly and shrugged, “I will just trust she knows what she’s doing.”

“Yes you will,” Narn spat at him. So far so good, Densinn had granted Spayar that golden tongue he’d wanted. Now to see if it held out till they met the Clan and tomorrow as well.

The holsters arrived with their horses, Spayar’s great war horse and Narn’s tournament mount, meant to look pretty more than be functional. He didn’t know who, but someone had dressed his horse in a simple tack instead of the one embossed with the Le’Acard house or his personal seal. He made a note to thank whoever had decided on that. Spayar grunted as he mounted up onto his mare. Narn’s stallion neighed and his mare shook her neck, she was as unimpressed with the stallion as Spayar was with Narn.

“Follow me,” Narn said sternly.

“Yes, sir,” Spayar said and erected a shield over himself so when they rode out of the protective, magical, cover, of the palace the rain still didn’t touch him. Spayar only half paid attention to Narn as he followed behind, the Archon wore only weather proof clothing, but looked miserable. Spayar put the sword he’d taken into his lap as he rode, letting his horse be smart enough to follow Narn’s ass. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and focused. Spayar wasn’t a good mage, and only could manipulate his element in the most basic of ways. All mages were in touch with their emotions since unlike witches or wizards their magic was driven by their will and had few, to no spoken spells. Spayar was always calm, sometimes he had outbursts, but he practiced hard in controlling himself, because he had to stay on top of things, and know what needed doing. So it took him quite a lot of effort to make his normally easily woven magic to come forward as a rush and he tasted metal in his mouth.

The sword squealed when Spayar bent it into an obtuse angle a hand width or so from the tip. Doing so left him exhausted. Manipulating gold was one thing, it was a soft, malleable metal. Folded steel was another thing all together. Once it was done he felt like he’d just run from Bellringer all through Assarus to the palace. At least he’d done what he’d wanted to do, and didn’t have to do it again. His horsed snorted. “Its fine,” he patted her neck and was glad he’d constructed his rain shield before attempting that. It would have been significantly weaker had he done that second. He really needed to practice elemental magic more.

“Are we almost there?” Spayar asked, they were on a road outside of the city by now, around the Elfswood that surrounded the palace on three sides. The Elfswood was more of a marsh than a proper forest though with sinks to get bogged down in and thick trees and branches that made getting through it very well impossible.

At that moment Narn pulled up his horse and Spayar checked his mare before she ran into him, “This is the spot,” he said. The rain had let up a bit since they’d left the palace, but it was still dark and gloomy out. Spayar was about to ask where they were then, or if Narn was going to light the area when a stray bolt of lightning flickered off in the distance. Narn’s horse reared, neighing, when the flash illuminated the land before them for an instant. Clansmen stood all in the road, not twenty feet in front of them, in a mass of humanity that stretched back several hundred feet. Spayar’s mare took a few stilted steps backwards but she wasn’t freaked out like Narn’s horse was and didn’t squeal in panic.

A laugh went up from the assembled Clansmen as Narn fought with to control his stallion and around their witch doctors raising staffs or spheres that started to glow, illuminating the column of Clansmen. Spayar had never seen so many in one place, and from three tribes no less.

“Whoes is in charge heres?” a man asked, he was big and had filed teeth that gave him an odd lisp, unlike Abirid’s teeth though every tooth was sharp and pointed.

“He is,” Spayar said, pointing at Narn, who’d gotten off his horse to calm it. The horse was still freaking out though and he wasn’t paying attention. Spayar nudged his mare forward and while she didn’t want to, she trusted him enough to go up to the man. The Clansman, like most of his fellows, had yellowish skin and raven black hair that jingled when they moved and eyes that were slightly slanted without a visible crease for an eyelid. Tattoos covered nearly every inch of his skin.

“Whoes is yous then?” he asked.

“I am Spayar Hillsman,” Spayar said proudly, “ _d'aelar_ of the rightful Asuras, and their loyal servant. That is Archon Narn Alverin, master of her majesty Asuras Tallalsala Le’Acard’s armies,” he was far too good at this. Those who’d heard were wide eyed, some blinking in astonishment. He doubted any of them know who he was, but they all knew what a _d'aelar_ was.”

“Wes didn’t knows Talsalla had a _d’aelar_ ,” the man said.

“A _d'aelar_ only serves a true Asuras, and never a fraud,” he smiled, “Who are you friend? We have not met before,” and he dismounted.

“I am chieftain Blue of the Barou.”

“A pleasure,” and he reached out. Blue laughed and grabbed Spayar’s forearm in greeting and Spayar met him squeeze for squeeze until the big Clansman let go.

“Archon,” Spayar called, turning, “Aren’t you going to come greet the chieftains? They’ve come a long way,” Blue’s touch had broken Spayar’s weave and now the rain splattered on his face and clothes. Even on his dark skin the blood stood out on his skin as it became wet once more and started to drip down his face and from his hair. He didn’t move to wipe it away.

Narn came over to, “Chieftain,” Narn said, “my stewart seems to have already introduced me, I am Archon Alverin,” he shook Blue’s hand but Spayar noted he did not try a contest of strength with Narn. Spayar didn’t know enough Clansmen to know if that was good for bad. “Are you our only chieftain?”

“Nah,” Blue scoffed as three more men and one woman came forward. The men looked much like Blue, only their tattoos and the beadwork of their clothes was different. The woman looked like she’d been purposefully forged from a piece of steel and made into a knife.

“Archon,” the woman said, speaking with a Clansman lisp, “I am Cati of the Ferek.”

“I didn’t know the Ferek supported her majesty,” Narn said even as they shook hands.

“Not alls do. I represent ours force that does. I trust the Asuras will be… accommodating.”

“Of course Cati,” Narn said. The other chieftains were introduced and Spayar stored the names away for later use. Jem of the Dac’ull, and Myst and Ryver of Clevenger. “I hope we did not keep you waiting too long.”

“Not at all, Archon,” Blue said. “We have had a long march though.”

“Of course! Space is being prepared for you near, if not in the palace. Follow us,” and he got back on his horse. Spayar did not. Next to Blue Jem let out what could be described as a war cry and a roar followed his call. Then the column of Clansmen started to move, following Narn.

“Yous do not ride?” Cati asked, as Spayar walked his horse, stepping up beside him, as silent as a stalking lion.

Spayar looked at his horse then at Cati, “I was under the assumption it is rude to ride animals while in the presence of a member of the Ferek,” he said, “I did not wish to offend,” her dark eyes gleamed with interest.

“Yous know much, _d'aelar_ Hillsman,” she purred, walking next to him.

“As I should,” he said simply, “One can’t trust nobles to know anything. That’s why they have people like me around. So they don’t fuck up. Forgive the Archon, he’s a bit… excited from the recent events and means you no insult.”

She laughed and it was more like a gigglish hiccup, “I will let the young warriors be insulted by that. I know ours fellow feylons do not abide by the ways as wes do,” Spayar nodded. “And how did yous come to be so covered in blood?” she asked, reaching to his shoulder. Her fingers came away slightly red.

“How do you think?” he showed the bent sword. “I killed enough men to dent my sword.” He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman so aroused by violence in his life. It was actually rather terrifying and Spayar wished Densinn hadn’t given him _quite_ as golden a tongue. Cati looked ready to fuck him on the ground right there though. He made a note to stay away from her if possible.

“That’s quite an accomplishment,” she said.

“I’m known to accomplish many things,” Spayar shrugged like it was nothing and lowered the sword again. “And I plan to accomplish many more.”

“I look forward to that then,” Cati said, a little grin tucked into the corner of her cheek.

—

The column was soaked by the time they arrived back at the palace, and the blood had washed off Spayar. He was exhausted from the night and knew it wasn’t over. “Hillsman,” Narn said sharply when they arrived at the palace gates, “Alert the Asuras that the Clansmen are here.”

“Sir,” Spayar said and finally heaved himself onto his horse so he could ride up the drive quicker. Though Narn was an idiot, Tallalsala had to know the Clan was here. With a grunt he dismounted at the front doors, there was no one around, “Holsters!” he called. A woman showed her face, though she looked tired and still a bit shaken. Spayar stepped in out of the rain at last. “Hello,” he beckoned her and she went over to him to take his horse. She’d been hit tonight. “Don’t worry, you’ll get no beatings from me. Just keep my horse out of the rain, I’ll be back for her,” he said.

“Yes, m’lord,” she nodded.

“And also; not a lord,” and he strode into the palace, leaving behind a trail of water. He walked to and across the courtyard that had been mostly cleaned up by now. At least of the bodies, though blood stains still remained. At the other end of the courtyard was the throne room, which previously hadn’t been open for Tallalsala’s party. Now the grand doors stood open, allowing golden light to spill out from the room and into the courtyard. Spayar straightened as he walked in, and kept a tight grip on his sword.

The throne room was filled with people, and sitting on a dais in a throne made of ivory and covered in carvings and gems, was Tallalsala. On one side of her throne were several poles, each topped with a spear head, except one which bore Obi’s head. Spayar counted the poles. There were eight, including Obi’s, one for each remaining  member of the Le’Acard house. But Von wasn’t up there, he was gone and safe somewhere. 

To Tallalsala’s other side was his sister, sitting lower on the dais. She’d been cleaned up and remade to wear the white face and makeup of an Asuras’ personal attendants. The dress Joy had made her was gone, replaced by a low cut tunic and skirt. The tunic was too small, so that they only just covered her breasts, though the skirt was long enough to walk and easily trip on. Spayar felt rage and hate flood through his body. Everything about Calli was supposed to embarrass him. He wouldn’t let Tallalsala get the satisfaction.

“Asuras,” he declared as he strode through the throne room towards her, bent sword at his side. People moved away from him when he walked and he recognized many of the lords and ladies of the realm and saw some gold and silver medallions gleaming from hair or chests. These were Tallalsala’s backers. Spayar memorized every face he could.

“Hillsman, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to not show yourself until you were presentable,” she said, annoyed he’d disobeyed her standing as he was soaking wet.

“Archon Narn sent me, your majesty,” he said, “He sent me to tell you that the Clansmen are here,” and he was sure everyone heard. Most of the Alliance didn’t like the Clan, the wild men of the Yellow Hills. They were often used in the same way the Embirrir were used, to overwhelm and destroy anyone who stood in your way, and they were merciless and cared little for the goings on of the Alliance other than that they knew they didn’t want to be against the Alliance and its vast armies. But rather part of them, a drop of water in a sea that was always crashing against the beach of the Federation. “Members of the Clevenger, Ferek, Barou, and Dac’ull tribes are at our door.”

That annoyed her more, “And can’t Archon Narn handle the situation himself? Or does he need me to hold his hand?”

“I know not,” Spayar said, “You ordered me to be his stewart, I am merely following your orders, and thus his, your majesty,” and he felt a few hateful eyes from people who knew what he was doing.

Tallalsala didn’t like that, “Tell Narn to deal with it,” she said.

“Yes, your majesty,” and he bowed to her, when he looked up she was marginally more pleased and Calli was staring at him in silence. Then he turned on his heel and walked back out of the throne room knowing he’d done something good, at least for himself. He’d humiliated Narn and cast him in a bad light with Tallalsala’s supporters.

Narn was at the front of the palace with the five chieftains, a few of their witch doctors stood behind them, though at a distance. “What did the Asuras say?” Narn asked when he approached.

“She said to deal with it, and that you shouldn’t need her to hold your hand on these matters,” Spayar said straight faced.

Narn turned purple with humiliation, clearly he’d been expecting some form of praise. “Those exact words?” he growled.

“Yes, Archon,” Spayar said. “What do you want me to do next?”

Narn held back a snarl of anger and frustration and looked at the chieftains, “We didn’t anticipate the number of men you would bring with you,” he said, sounding calm, though Spayar could see how tight his back was. “I don’t think we have room for all of them within the palace.”

“Sos the grounds ares for us than?” Blue asked, cutting to the bad news.

“Yes, it is unfortunate but there is no space for so many.”

“Bah,” and Myst spat on the ground.

“Our mens will settle somewheres tonight, but the Asuras must provide us with somewhere better and not so wet and muggy tomorrow. Wes has an understanding?” Ryver said, clearly the Clevenger were more insulted than the others.

“Of course. Hillsman will show you where you may set up,” he gave Spayar a hard look, “And you are free to hunt in the Elfswood as you like,” and Spayar knew Narn had blundered. The Elfswood was sacred land, you were allowed to hunt in it, but the Clan respected the Fey’s power and connection with the earth, they would never. He saw Myst and Ryver look annoyed by such a suggestion.

“Thank yous,” Jem said, though his eyes were hard.

“I will go and speak with the Asuras about further accommodations for your men,” and then he yanked Spayar a few feet away. “Do _not_ fuck this up boy,” Narn growled at him, right in his face.

“I won’t, you’re doing a rather spectacular job of that without my help,” and Narn smacked him.

“And don’t talk back to me,” Narn threatened, finger in Spayar’s face.

Spayar took a deep breath through his nose, “Yes, sir,” he said, biting his tongue. Narn narrowed his eyes at him and then walked into the palace, leaving Spayar alone with the Clan chieftains.

He steadied himself, “Chieftains,” he said, going back over to them, “Let us rejoin your men and we’ll find you a place to set up.”

“In this rain the mens will be displeased,” Blue said.

“Sadly I am not a weather worker, otherwise I would get rid of it,” Spayar said and waved off the holster who was approaching with his horse. He wouldn’t need it. “The sooner you set up though the sooner your men can get dry,” and Spayar started walking towards the column of Clansmen, the chieftains and witch doctors followed behind.


	20. All You Have is Me

When Hathus finally landed in the port of Peonia Diylan gave a sigh of relief. Under him Hathus groaned, the water bubbling a bit, she was exhausted from such a rapid flight from the northern capital to half way across the country to the coast. Here the sun was just starting to rise, just peaking up over the steeped roofs of the city.

 _‘The docks_ ,’ Diylan said and Hathus swam to the docks, though she was too large to climb up. Instead Diylan climbed off, onto the boards and Hathus hunched her shoulders so Diylan could pluck Gard from the saddle.

The teenager was half asleep and his eyes were bloodshot. At least he wasn’t still high. Probably just exhausted, like Diylan was, from running on adrenaline the entire night.

 _‘This one returns until you call, Diylan_ ,’ Hathus said.

‘ _Okay, sleep well beautiful_ ,’ Diylan said and a portal opened under the water, Hathus dived and vanished through it, Diylan going momentarily blind as the darkness of his eyes closed across his pupil like a revolving lens. Once he could see again he pulled Gard to his feet roughly.

“Where are we?” Gard asked and rubbed his head.

“Peonia,” Diylan said.

“Shit… shit shit. Where’s Spayar?” he looked around wildly.

“Not here. Just us. Remember?”

“Barely,” Gard squeezed his eyes closed, “My sister killed our sister,” and Gard looked sick, “just… just cut her head off like it was nothing.”

“Gard,” Diylan grabbed his shoulders, “Focus. Where do you want me to take you.”

“Take me?” he asked, looking confused.

“Spayar told me to take you west, somewhere safe. Now _where_ do you want me to take you?”

“Where’s Spayar?” he asked again.

“Still back in Assarus I presume,” Diylan said.

Vondugard stared at him and for the first time Diylan saw a kid who was in way over his head and out of his depth. The prince always seemed so confidant. It was a sobering realization for Diylan to know that most of his prince’s confidence came from having his _d’aelar_ , if not around, than within reach. But Spayar wasn’t here and for all they knew he could be dead. Now Diylan saw a kid who didn’t know what to do, because the man who held his life together wasn’t somewhere he could get to.

Diylan slapped him.

They didn’t have time for this. Gard stared at him in shock, hand to his cheek. “Fucking focus, kid. Where are we going. Tell me and I’ll take you. Spayar isn’t here, you need to figure it out,” he said sharply.

Gard blinked a few times, “Theres nowhere safe in the Alliance,” he said slowly and Diylan saw a plan forming. “If I’m here I can die.” The indecision and crisis of Spayar being gone passed and he looked capable again. Thank the gods. Diylan didn’t know how to handle Gard like Spayar did. “Take me to Anokai,” he said.

“Anokai?” Diylan asked, brow furrowed. “Why Anokai?”

“The ambassador likes me. I’ve been talking about visiting. They’ll welcome me,” Gard said, and around them the port was starting to come to life.

“Anokai?” Diylan asked to clarify.

“Yes,” Gard said.

‘ _Gatthus, come. Now_ ,’ Diylan called to his other wyrm, knowing Hathus was too tired still from her flight. Diylan’s vision blacked out but he could see the passage of his wyrm ripping through space and as the purple fire rimmed portal opened, rending the air, his vision returned in time to see Gatthus slip into the water.

“We need to go before someone sees us… sees me,” Gard corrected himself.

Diylan jumped down onto Gatthus’ back when the big wyrm came up beside the dock. “Jump,” he said up to Gard.

“I’ll fall,” Gard said, “Tired,” and he was swaying a little.

Grumbling Diylan grabbed Gard by the waist and the prince yelped in surprise when Diylan put him on Gatthus’ wide back. He buckled Gard’s legs in so he didn’t slip off, like he’d barely had time to do last night, and got into the front saddle. 

“Go,” Diylan urged Gatthus. The wyrm thrashed his great tail and surged upwards, using his forward momentum to get enough altitude to get his wings up and open and bring down. In two wing beats they were successfully skyward. Below them the Sea gleamed in the early morning light and Diylan fed Gatthus a steady stream of positive and directive thoughts to make him fly faster. It also let his mind be completely devoted to Gatthus. So he couldn’t think about Spayar, couldn’t think about Tallalsala or the party or anything. All he could think about was Gatthus and the powerful feeling of his wings pumping and heart pounding, his lungs like massive bellows propelling him as much as his wings did.

“Diylan,” Gard asked some time later, jarring him from his connection with Gatthus so badly they rolled leeward in surprise. Gard squeezed his waist tightly and when the wind stopped rushing so much he could heard Gard whining loudly.

“What?” Diylan asked, slowing Gatthus enough so they could talk without yelling.

“Do you think Spayar’s all right?”

Diylan hesitated, “I’m sure he’s fine,” he said, and he wasn’t sure who he was reassuring. “It’s Spayar, he’ll make it.”

“I hope so,” Gard said, pressing against Diylan’s back, arms around his waist tightening. “Some of my supporters are only my supporters because of him… that sounded really self serving didn’t it?”

“A lot,” Diylan said.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Diylan said, ‘ _Gatthus, land_.’

‘ _And where do you propose this one does that?’_ Gatthus asked, since they were out in the middle of the Sea.

‘Land _’_ Diylan growled, Gatthus was always the more difficult of the siblings. Apparently male wyrms always were, from what he’d heard from other flighters. He didn’t have time for Gatthus’ backtalk right now though. ‘ _I know you can swim_.’ Grumbling his dissent of the idea Gatthus did land, fanning out his wings so he could ease into the water without too much splashing.

“Why are we stopping?” Gard asked.

“Because I’m tired and because we’re switching positions,” Diylan said and stood up on Gatthus’ back. Gatthus grunted, “Don’t complain you,” he added to his wyrm. Gard got his legs unbuckled and scooted forward on the long saddle.

“Can you still fly?” Gard asked.

“Of course. But mail couriers have a lot more practice  in being on their wyrms for more than five hours. Its tiring,” and Diylan walked across Gatthus’ shoulders and wing joints so he could sit behind Gard.

“It takes a lot of concentration to summon?” Gard asked, and Diylan knew he was asking to keep his mind off what had happened last night and the war that would be brewing back east between his siblings.

“Yes. Only a few creatures can be here on their own will, wyrms can but,” he grunted as he reached around Gard to grab the leads and was glad the teen had at least buckled himself in. “But if I lose focus _other_ things could come through,” because the worlds were thin around summoned creatures. “Gatthus, lets go,” Gatthus didn’t move, he groaned.

“Something wrong?” Gard asked.

“Gatthus, you stupid, lazy, lizard, get moving,” Diylan snapped.

‘ _Up, down, up, down. Diylan is so bossy of this one today_.’

“I don’t have _time_ for you today I swear to the gods Gatthus,” and he shoved against Gatthus’ mind hard making his wyrm growl. “No more fucking oranges for you for a _year_ if you don’t move _right now_ ,” and he was serious and glaring at his wyrm.

Gatthus turned to look at the two of them, _‘Lier_ ,’ he said, though sounded concerned.

“Fucking _fly_ or no citrus at all, for you or Hathus. And she’ll kick your ass if you make her lose hers too,” he threatened. The threat of his sister’s rage spurred Gatthus more than anything and he surged upwards to get airborne. “Fucking wyrm,” Diylan grumbled. He was glad female wyrms were bigger than their brothers (at least for the first few hundred years), and more agreeable too. Not a few flighters used the threat of their sisters on their male wyrms. Got them to behave at least. Stupid passive aggressive assholes.

“Is that usual?” Gard asked.

“Gatthus being obnoxious? Yes. Fucking baby,” and he kicked Gatthus’ side. Gatthus growled and barrel rolled lee a few times, making Gard yelp and grab Diylan’s arms. “Stop that!” Diylan yelled, and Gatthus evened out. Useless fucking wyrm if his sister wasn’t exhausted he’d have used her instead. “Sorry,” he added to Gard.

“Can we not do that again?” Gard asked, trembling a little.

“Yeah,” and Diylan leaned against him a bit, wrapping the leads securely around his forearms and rubbed against Gatthus’ mind again, falling silent in preference of guiding his wyrm. Gatthus responded to the direction better than he had been before, at least clever enough to know the time to be difficult was over. When Diylan shared himself fully with his wyrms they moved better, faster.

Diylan’s arms ached like he was the one flying, and his heart started to beat at the same speed as Gatthus. A second sight overlaid his vision of Gatthus’ neck, Gard’s head, and the sky, as Gatthus’ point of view, like he was seeing one thing with each eye. But he knew they were going faster, and soon they’d reach land. He knew because he could smell it, the smell of earth and pine trees and lava striking water. In front of him Gard was quiet. He didn’t know if he was sleeping, or just lost in his own thoughts, but he was a fleeting concern as Gatthus hit a good updraft. It allowed them to coast, wings unmoving, for several minutes before they had to flap again.

They flew for hours, and though it wasn’t as long as the journey Hathus had made, it felt like it. The sun wasn’t even at the noon position when land appeared on the horizon and rapidly started to get closer. “Anokai?” Gard asked and Diylan wasn’t startled this time.

“I think,” Diylan said, though his voice was heard through Gatthus’ ears and repeated, rattling him. He sank back into Gatthus and continued to fly. It took no time at all to reach the land and Diylan felt the change of the wind instantly and Gatthus spiraled upwards on a warm thermal. Gard held his forearms tightly as he did until they leveled out again.

Diylan had to disengage, what he was doing was exhausting and while normally keeping the focus to keep the wyrmlings out of this world while his wyrms were around was easy, he was having trouble now. His vision kept blacking out and he saw the air warping and twisting around them as dozens of wyrmlings wanted to come into the world. They needed to land, Gatthus needed to leave. “Where do you want me to land?” he asked Gard.

“A city, or a town, anywhere with people,” Gard said.

“Right,” and he looked around, _‘Gatthus, where are people_?’

Gatthus banked gale and started flying on his own, knowing Diylan was too tired to direct him, and needed to focus on not letting the lines between worlds slip. Diylan just focused on keeping his vision whole. “Don’t get too close,” Gard said to Diylan, “They don’t have dragons or wyrms in Anokai except when someone comes with them to attack them.”

“Right,” Diylan said, but he was fading.

‘ _STAY AWAKE!’_ Gatthus thundered, jarring him and making him slip off the saddle a little. Thankfully the leads were still wrapped around his forearm so he didn’t go far.

 _‘Thanks_.’

‘ _City is a mile away, to the north_ ,’ Gatthus said and flared his wings out to land. He landed on a dirt road between a pasture of strange creatures that looked like sheep but had long legs and necks and a field of rice patties.

Gard got up and walked along Gatthus’ shoulders as the wyrm sank to the ground. He slid off Gatthus’ shoulder and his elbow to land on the ground and nearly fell. Diylan was too tired for this, he’d been awake a full day and night, half of which he spent connected with his wyrms. He was no mail courier, he wasn’t cut out for this and was literally about to collapse right there in exhaustion. He should never have left the Wyrd in the first place. He couldn’t sleep yet though. He helped Gard down.

“Where are we?” Gard asked.

“No idea,” Diylan said and leaned against Gatthus, his wyrm whined and nuzzled him, ‘ _This one is fine. This one is fine_ ,’ he assured Gatthus gently, _‘This one is just tired and needs sleep, like you do_.’

 _‘Tired,_ ’ Gatthus agreed.

‘ _Go on. This one will be fine_ ,’ and Diylan pushed off Gatthus to stand and his vision blacked out for a moment when Gatthus tore open a portal between the worlds and rushed through. “I need to sit down,” Diylan said and flopped onto the dirt road. He was so tired, mentally and physically.

“Diylan?” Vondugard asked, though his voice sounded far away. “Diylan!” and he started awake when Gard yelled his name.

“What?” he asked, blinking tiredly.

“Don’t sleep yet,” Gard said sternly.

“Right… I wasn’t. I just…” he was having trouble with the whole full sentences thing, “There people, north of here,” he said, everything was moving slow and spots were dancing in front of his eyes. He really couldn’t stay awake.

“Then we’ll go, now get up,” Gard said, grabbing his hand and pulling.

“I can’t,” Diylan said and yawned so big his jaw cracked. “I really, really, can’t. I need to rest, my lord,” he was sure he was only half awake at this point.

“Diylan, get up. We need to go,” Gard was saying other stuff but Diylan didn’t hear.

—

When Diylan woke up it was still light out and he was right where he’d fallen asleep on the road, though now lying on his side. With a groan he pushed himself up and wondered where the hell he was. It took him a minute to remember he was in Anokai, with the prince, after Tallalsala’s coup.

Diylan jerked to his feet when he realized Gard wasn’t around. “Vondugard?” he called, starting to panic. Spayar was going to flay him navel to throat if he lost the prince, or let something happen to him. The concept that Spayar might be dead didn’t even enter his thoughts. Dead or not Spayar would come and rip the skin off his body if something happened to Gard. Where was that kid?

“Vondugard!” he yelled again, cupping a hand around his mouth. No reply except a bray from one of the long necked sheep in the pasture next to him.

Diylan dismantled his panic. Gard was a trained swordsman and mage, nothing _too_ bad could happen to him. And he was a Le’Acard, no way some highwaymen would get the better of him. Wherever Gard had gone he’d gone on his own free will. Panic gone Diylan was now pissed. Gard had just _left him_ there on the side of the road! He checked the sun, it was a few hours till sunset still, good. That still didn’t help him find the missing prince.

Doing anything with magic was painful, but Diylan still did it, he had to find the prince before he did anything else. Wyrmlings came through when you taunted them with magic, and Diylan did just that, stretching out his belsong to summon them. He closed his eyes and saw the wyrmlings rushing through the space between worlds, writhing and scraping at the air until one portal opened. Six little wyrmlings all the size of his forearm rushed out screeching and Diylan wrapped a thread of magic around each of their necks. He pulled it back afterwards and now there was little interest for the wyrmlings to fight through the dense space between their existence and Gala.

The six wyrmlings flew over Diylan’s head, one landing on his big shoulders, grabbing onto the thick leather of his flak jacket with its wing claws and chirped at him. It curled its snake-like body around Diylan’s shoulders and neck loosely and cocked its head at him. Diylan felt sick, he literally felt nauseous from doing this, but it needed doing.

Touching a wyrmling’s mind was nothing like doing the same to a wyrm. Wyrmlings were base creatures who lived in the present and had no concept of the past or future like wyrms did. They did not think or know emotion and while in Gala all they wanted to do was eat and hunt. Diylan didn’t like dealing with wyrmlings, as they made him uncomfortable. But they were needed. He broadcast an image of Vondugard into the wyrm’s minds along with something that sent them humming: hunt.

The wyrmlings took off in all directions and Diylan leaned against the fence, still tired from the flight and now this. He needed to find Gard, or at least get to the city Gatthus had seen, since Gard might be there. If it was large enough the place might even have a lord. With a grunt and realizing he was hungry and had missed three meals, Diylan started walking down the road, north. He could feel the wyrmlings searching and if one found Gard he’d know. For now though he had to walk, and this mile was going to be a very long walk.

—

Officially he had no idea where he was. The city had no sign and even if it did Diylan couldn’t read haphese anyway, he couldn’t speak it either. This was the dumbest idea.

Walking through the gridded streets of the little city Diylan got a lot of stares. There wasn’t a single person who wasn’t at least an entire head shorter than him. He was surprised it bothered him as much as it did. There was also no one who didn’t have black hair here, or large blue eyes, it was creepy as hell. Back in the Alliance a combination like that was uncommon, though not unheard of, but _everyone_ had black hair and blue eyes. He was safe to assume that they’d never seen someone with red hair either so that probably didn’t help in getting him less stares. Diylan wished they’d stop doing that, or at least be subtle about it. Apparently staring so openly wasn’t rude here like it was in the Alliance.

Diylan knew where he was going at least. While not exactly a castle there was a large tower in the center of the city covered in banners of a lord. Which lord he had no idea but it was a start at least. So he might as well start there. The wyrmlings still had found nothing, and asking the local lord seemed like a good place to start.

Eventually he did make it to the tower, which was made of stone and other than the banners uninteresting and gray. A thick wall surrounded the tower and there were no guards. No one stopped him when he went in either. How did he find the lord though? He had no idea.

The bottom of the tower was a foyer, clearly, with stairs that went up the side so Diylan took that. On the second floor he found some people, they were hanging a tapestry on the rounded wall.

“Excuse me,” he said, startling them and he groaned when they looked at him with open mouths. “Yes yes, I’m very tall and have red hair,” he was already sick of the attention, “I’m feylon, does anyone here speak feylian, or _common_?” he asked because as much as he loathed to speak the common Federation language common and feylian were alike enough that they could speak to each other.

The two men at work looked at each other and shared a few words, though it was lost on Diylan. “Fey’on?” one asked, unable to pronounce the L. Diylan nodded, they spoke to the other again and then one ran off, down the curved hall though where Diylan had no idea. The other man spoke rather empathetically to Diylan.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand you,” Diylan said, he didn’t even know enough haphese to even say he didn’t speak haphese. They said some more things but Diylan just sighed, before they stopped.

They waited together for almost ten minutes, in a slightly awkward silence, before the man from before returned with a woman. Unlike these two men who wore simple clothes she wore a lavish dress that brushed the ground and a great over-robe with large sleeves and showed depictions of cranes and waterfalls. They spoke in brief haphese to the two tapestry hangers before turning to Diylan. “You are the fey’on?” she asked him, her voice was sweet, though her accent was bad.

“Yes,” Diylan said and he didn’t know who she was or how important so he just bowed to make sure he showed whatever respect was required. “I am Diylan Rasten, of the Drake,” he said formally.

“You have come a very ‘ong way to not be ab’e to speak haphese,” she said.

“I came with someone else, he can,” Diylan said. “But I… don’t know where I am right now,” he admitted.

She beckoned him and he followed her around the curved hallway between the stone wall and an interior wall made of some sort of pale wood. “This is the city of Tokon,” she said, “What are you doing here and in this tower?”

“I am looking for someone,” Diylan said, “We got separated, I had hoped the lord would be able to help me.”

She gave him a curious look as they headed up another flight of stairs, “Why did you think that?”

“The person I lost is a member of royalty,” Diylan said, “Anokai and the Alliance have a good relationship, I didn’t think it’d be a problem,” he frowned, he hoped nothing went wrong. He didn’t know where she was leading him after all. They stopped at a spot on the wall and she slid open a door in it, going inside. Diylan followed. The room was basic with a low table, no chairs, and a few potted plants. He could hear running water but didn’t know from where.

The woman sat elegantly behind the table, sitting on her knees. Diylan sat opposite her, sitting cross legged. “They do,” she said, “I am Masura Totachi,” she said, “My father is the under’ord of Tokon.”

“It is an honor, Masura,” and he bowed where he sat, she giggled. “I really could use your help.”

“How did you come to ‘ose this person?” she asked him.

He laughed awkwardly, “I… uh… fell asleep on the side of the road,” he admitted. “And the idiot wandered off while I slept.” Though he didn’t sound so much smarter, admitting to having fallen asleep next to a road.

“And you have no idea where he might be?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“What is your business here in Anokai?” she asked.

He hesitated, “To hide,” he said at last, “My missing companion is a prince of the Fey Alliance, and currently we are suffering a civil war over the throne of our country. For the time being my prince wishes to seek safety here in Anokai until his forces are mustered and he’s ready to return home.”

“I see,” she frowned, “So you are in great danger then?” He nodded. “What does your prince ‘ook ‘ike?”

“He’s taller than your people,” he said, “Has yellow hair, and fair skin, and blue eyes, and pointed ears-

“That is him?” Masura interrupted him, sounding shocked.

“Yes?” Diylan wasn’t sure if this was good or bad.

“He came into Tokon a few hours ago. He was scaring the people by tal’ing to them in fey’on and they thought he was a demon with his pointed ears,” she laughed.

“What? So is he here?” he asked.

She nodded, “He’s in the dungeons right now,” Masura said and Diylan groaned. “He was acting very agitated’y when our guards tried to speak with him. I don’t know what he said to them but apparent’y there was a ‘ot of ye’ing before they subdued him.”

“Your guards are very lucky. Vondugard is a very powerful mage,” Diylan sighed, “Though I’m sure he made a point to not hurt them.” Of course Gard was in the dungeon. Of course he was. This was just his rotten luck. Diylan was never going to let him live this down. “Can I see him?” he asked, “Or better can he be released?”

“You wi’ have to ask my father,” Masura rose easily to her feet, “You may wait here Diy’an,” she said, “I will see if he will have an audience with you,” and she walked out, the sliding door closing with a soft clap.

Diylan ran his hands through his hair several times before yanking on the strands connected to the wyrmlings. He felt them veer off from their previous destinations and race towards him. He rubbed his head. This could have been a lot worse he supposed. Gard could be lost still, or they could have arrested _him_ too. It wasn’t like there was anyone who could bail them out in Anokai. They’d be stuck here if something happened. Spayar would kill them both if they _both_ had gotten arrested.

He didn’t have to wait very long before Masura came back, he didn’t know if he should stand or not so he just stayed seated. “I’m sorry,” she said, “my father is current’y not within the tower,” at least she sounded sympathetic. Diylan groaned and rubbed his hands across his face. “No prisoners may be released without his permission. But, I can take you to see him,” she added.

“Okay,” he said and got to his feet with a grunt. “He’s not hurt is he?”

“No,” she shook her head, “Though I don’t think he’s very happy right now.”

No, no he probably wasn’t. He followed Masura out of room and to his surprise they headed upstairs, and not down. He didn’t ask though, Masura had been fair and (as far as he knew) truthful to him up till now, he couldn’t think she would pull one over on him. “Where is your fina’ destination in Anokai?” she asked on the fifth floor, each looking similar to the last.

“Probably the capital,” Diylan said, “I’m not entirely sure it has been a very… chaotic night,” he sighed but it was from exhaustion. “Could we stop a moment?” he asked her.

“Are you tired?” she asked, “I apologize, I know not everyone is used to the tower stairs-

Diylan laughed, “No no, its fine. These are far more gentle stairs than the ones back home. I just need to deal with something,” and he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, since the wyrmlings were spiraling around the tower right outside where he was. The magic around their necks was now a short leash, keeping them close. After having done it since he was a boy Diylan had little trouble opening a portal himself against the stone tower. He didn’t know what world it led into, only that it was out of Gala, and the wyrmlings could get home on their own.

“Diy’an?” Masura asked him, confused.

“Shhh, I’m tired, this is taking me a bit,” he said and put his finger to his lips. She said nothing more. Diylan took the ends of the leashes attached to his belsong and threw them into the portal. His vision shifted so he could see the movement of between as the wyrmlings rushed through after the magic. Then Diylan closed the portal and he felt better than he had previously. No longer feeling ill or like his stomach was hurting. He didn’t want to touch his magic or summon again for a while if he couldn’t help it.

He opened his eyes again, “Okay, its done,” he said.

“What did you do?” she asked, confused.

“Magic, don’t worry, it was harmless,” he assured her. “Now the prince?” he prompted her.

“Of course,” she nodded quickly and they continued up the stairs.

They stopped at what had to be the top floor and Masura used a key to open the first normal, swinging, door he’d seen all day. They stepped up into a small hut where several guards were sitting. They jumped to their feet when they saw Masura and bowed to her, staying bowed as she led Diylan outside.

 Up on the roof was a circular walkway, and facing outwards were the cells, each with only three walls. The ones facing inwards were made of metal bars and stone walls were between them to separate, the forth faced the open air. Diylan walked up to a cell and was impressed by the height they were at. Nothing short of a wind mage would be able to survive that fall if you jumped or fell.

Three of the cells were occupied. “Over here,” Masura said and he followed her around the top of the tower to a cell. The wind was strong up here and at mid Shard the air cold and crisp. Up against a corner was a figure who was curled up upon themselves to keep warm. Diylan recognized the blonde hair easily and went forward quickly.

“Vondugard,” he said as he approached.

Gard twisted around, his blue eyes going wide, “You’re awake!” and he jumped to his feet. Diylan was suddenly unfooted mid-step and when he looked Gard had his hand out and looked pissed. “You fell asleep on me you asshole!” he yelled.

“What the shit Gard?” Diylan demanded.

“You fell _asleep on me_ ,” Gard cried.

Diylan lurched to his feet and took the next few steps to the cell and grabbed Gard by the front of his shirt and lifted him up off the ground. “And you _left me there_ ,” Diylan hissed in his face. “You just walked away and when I woke up you were _gone_ and I had no idea where you were. And Spayar- Spayar _told me_ to keep you fucking safe you ungrateful shit head,” he shook Gard a little. “I might have fallen asleep but it was only after making sure you were safe, and you _left me_ there. I could have been robbed. I could have been _killed_.”

“Let me go,” Gard said in a hard voice, holding onto the bars so Diylan didn’t suffocate him.

Diylan didn’t, instead he lifted Gard up higher, “No. Not until you get it through your pompous head. Right now, I’m all you got. They think you’re a demon and were probably going to kill you. Without someone to back you you’re just some trumped up mage. You have no throne, you have no family, you have no power, you have no Spayar, you have no friends. All you have is me right now. And we’re in a strange country where I don’t speak a fucking word of the language. So you’re going to get your shit together,” he shook Gard again, “And grow up. You aren’t a kid anymore. As of this second your a god damn man and you need to act like one or I’ll just let them keep you up here. I swear to Perunaz I will. Do we have an understanding?” he demanded.

Gard looked at him and Diylan knew he might have been a bit harsh. Gard was terrified and just as lost and angry as he was. But Gard needed to realize just what was going on. The prince had all these grand plans. But the reality was that _none_ of that mattered. Here he was no one. Less than no one, he was a prisoner. If he didn’t shape the hell up both of them were screwed.

Gard looked down a second, “We do,” he said and Diylan set him down gently and tugged his clothes to sit right.

“Good. Now Masura can’t let you out of here, only the lord can do that. I’ll talk to him and get him to release you once he gets back. So you just need to sit tight,” he tugged off his flak jacket.

“What are you doing?” Gard asked, cocking his head to the side.

“You look like your freezing, here,” and he pushed the jacket, which was way too big for Gard, through the bars. “Its my fancy one, so it’s more comfortable than my normal one,” he said. Gard took it and wrapped it around him tightly.

“Thanks,” Gard said.

Diylan put his hands on Gard’s shoulders, “Just hold tight,” he assured him, “I’ll convince the lord to let you out of here.” Gard nodded. “Don’t antagonize anyone while you’re waiting. Got it?” He nodded again. “Good.” He turned and looked for Masura. She was standing by the hut, out of the wind, to give them some privacy.

“She’s going to help us?” Gard asked.

“Yeah,” he squeezed Gard’s shoulders and then looked back at him. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t freeze up here.”

“I’ll try not to,” Gard nodded and Diylan let him go. He didn’t want to though. Now he knew how Spayar felt, always so fucking anxious and worried about Gard. Spayar had left their prince in Diylan’s protection, and he’d already gotten stuck. So he was going to do the Spayar thing and unstick it. He didn’t know _how_ to do that of course, he wasn’t Spayar. By the gods he was a _clerk_. He didn’t have that silver tongue Spayar had. But he’d do it. He’d do it because he had no choice. When you made friends with royalty you made sacrifices, and you usually didn’t like what they were.

He went over to Masura, “Okay, thank you. He’s fine.”

“I’m sorry my father isn’t here now,” she frowned.

“Not your fault,” he sighed.

“Wou’d you ‘ike to ‘ay down Diy’an?” she asked him, “You seem very tired.”

He smiled, “Yes, thank you,” he bowed to her again, “and perhaps something to eat? Please?”

She smiled brightly, “Of course. P’ease, fo’ow me,” and she led him back into the hut and they started going down the stairs of the tower once more.


	21. The Lioness

It was still raining the next day. The storm had lasted all night and as Spayar was heading home it was still raining, turning the sunrise into a perpetual gray. Orange light kissed the horizon, but didn’t break into the sky. As he rode his mare down the streets the city was hushed and silent. The remains of last night’s party were where they’d stood the night before. Flowers and garlands and decorations lay scattered across the roads and in puddles and were washed down gutters and into the river. There was no one on the street, like they were afraid to leave their homes. Spayar was one of the only people on the road.

His father’s forge was unlit when he got home and dismounted from his mare, leading her into the shed. He didn’t remove her tack though. He wouldn’t be staying long. Long enough to wash and dress. Inside the house it was quiet, but not empty.

The Hillsman family sat before two statues in the sitting room. His parents’ personal gods from Dirin. His parents had a hand up to their faces, touching each cheek and forehead lightly with a finger of one hand. Anora and Duren were sitting on either side of them praying the feylon way, heads bowed, a hand pressed across their hearts.

Spayar closed the door loud enough to be heard and they all turned and looked at him. “Spayar!” Relora cried and lurched to her feet. He found himself being hugged a moment later and she kissed his face all over. “You’re alive,” she said, sounding near tears in relief.

“I am,” Spayar said, but he sounded hollow.

“What happened up there?” his father asked, Duren helping him to his feet.

“Tallalsala threw her coup, and killed Obi,” Spayar said. He hugged his mother before putting her at arm’s length, “You all need to leave,” he said.

“What?” she asked, confused.

He swallowed, “Tallalsala has Calli,” he said, and let his arms drop to his sides uselessly. “As a hostage,” he clarified, so they knew she was alive.

“What? How? Why?” Relora asked, though her voice was shaking.

“To get to me, to get to Vondugard,” Spayar said. “And I don’t doubt she’ll come here for you too,” his voice started to shake as well, though in anger. “So you need to leave Assarus. At least for now.”

“And go where?” Anora asked, clinging to their father, looking scared.

Spayar frowned, “I don’t know,” he admitted. He took a deep breath, “Sorry its been… a really long night,” he rubbed his head. “And Tallalsala has Calli. Assarus isn’t safe for you. I’m sorry,” he looked at his family and felt such shame having to tell them this. He never thought this would happen. He thought he’d have more time. But no, he didn’t, and now he was under Tallalsala’s thumb.

“We’ll go to Gorun,” Spayar sr said and squeezed Anora’s shoulders reassuringly. Gorum the smith city to the south, Spayar had never been, but it was where any master smith went to show off their craft. His father had been several times, probably had friends there. Protection from Tallalsala at any rate. They’d be safe in Gorum.

“Dear, Gorum?” Relora asked, frowning.

Spayar sr nodded, “Its away from all this,” he said and looked at Spayar, and away from their oldest children, both of whom were Tallalsala’s hostages. “And though I hate to run, its what we have to do,” and Spayar felt such relief for that. Relora’s mouth went thin, clearly upset and looked between father and son. But she didn’t say anything either, she knew it was bad, and knew what needed to be done. “When do we need to leave?” Spayar sr asked him.

“Today,” Spayar said, “Now,” he added. “There are three tribes of the Clan in Assarus, and a praetor is bringing a brigade of soldiers from the east. Within days the city is going to be flooded with soldiers and I… I can’t do what I need to do if I know you’re here,” and he was surprised when he realized he was about to cry. It had been an exhausting night, and it was still raining, and he probably wouldn’t get any sleep for some time yet.

“Oh sweetie,” his mother hugged him and he wrapped his arms around her limply.

“Duren, Anora, go up to your rooms and pack a bag. One bag,” Spayar sr told his younger children seriously. They nodded and fled up the stairs. A moment later Spayar felt his father’s great arms wrap around him, pressing over top his mother’s delicate hands and arms.

“Thank you,” Spayar said after a few moments, allowing himself to be comforted as he normally didn’t allow, and as his parents didn’t do. His parents unwound from him.

“Relora, go check on the kids,” Spayar sr said and Relora didn’t argue, even though she didn’t want to leave yet. She went and Spayar sr turned Spayar to look at him, hands on Spayar’s shoulders.

“Dad, I-

“Don’t,” Spayar sr said. “I know you’re going to apologize for Calli. Don’t.”

“I tried to find her, I really did I just-

“I know, son,” Spayar sr hugged him again. “Tell me what Tallalsala did to my little girl,” he said lowly, not releasing him.

“Death curse,” Spayar said softly, “Too intricate for me to unweave. I need someone to do it,” but the person he’d call to do this was currently two weeks away in DisAdo. The knowledge that Tassa was so far away, unable to help, made his stomach a hard knot. He pulled away from his father a little, “I’ll make sure she’s safe though,” he said.

“I know you will, son,” Spayar sr said.

“And then I’m going to kill Tallalsala for doing this to my family.” Spayar sr chuckled a little, “What?” he asked, confused.

“Every time I think you’re a Dirinnan, you remind me you’re feylon,” Spayar sr said and squeezed his shoulders. “Dirinnan are calm, together, even our wars aren’t that bloody. Feylon are so… passionate,” he squeezed Spayar’s shoulders harder. “I’m glad to know you can do this.”

“I hope I can,” Spayar said, insecurity flashing through him.

“You will,” Spayar sr said, “And when you finish here, come see us in Gorum.”

“I will once I can bring Calli with me,” Spayar promised. “Once she’s free.”

Spayar sr nodded, “Good,” he said softly and kissed Spayar on the cheeks and between the eyes. Spayar closed his eyes as his father did that, accepting the blessing, the love. “Now, I need to pack.”

“And I need to change clothes,” and they were now no longer touching, as though they never had been. Spayar sr nodded at Spayar and went up the stairs first. 

Spayar followed a moment later and headed for the bathroom. There he was ambushed by his mother. Relora looked focused, her brow and tattoos a bit pinched. “Spayar,” she said, laying a hand on his arm.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Your father and I left Dirin to escape a civil war,” she said, “Don’t let this one linger,” and Spayar swallowed. He always thought he got his intensity from his father. Looking at his mother he could see where he and Calli got it.

“I won’t,” he said and felt a new weight he didn’t expect rest on his shoulders.

She smiled at him, “I know you won’t,” she said, “Bring Calli home,” and she kissed Spayar on the cheeks, between the eyes and felt the weight. He nodded stiffly. “I’m so proud of you _baby_ ,” she said, but baby was said the Dirinnan way and he stared wide eyed at her. She hadn’t called him that since he was a little boy, before he’d met Von and started on the road to become… whatever it was he was now. It made his heart ache for a simpler time.

Then he swallowed and straightened up, “I need to prepare to see Tallalsala again,” he said.

“As we need to to leave,” she said. She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder before leaving him to what he needed to do. Spayar locked the door to the bathroom and drew a warm bath before stripping out of his sodden clothes.

He meant to just take a brief bath, long enough to clean himself. But the warm water was a blessing and he sat in it for a long while, dozing. He could hear his family moving around in the upper floor and at one point his father rose his voice at Duren, though for what he didn’t know. Something stupid probably, Duren scared, Spayar sr probably just as much, though for different reasons.

Spayar made himself get up from the warmth of the water, though he could still feel the chill in his bones. He had to go. He put a towel on his head, wrapping up his hair, and one around his waist before going to his room. Rain tapped against his windows and outside the city looked miserable, the backlit face of the Tadradin the only brightness in the city it seemed. Spayar pulled out his clothes, all black, or very nearly. Pants, undershirt, waist coat, shirt, undercoat. He laid them all out on the bed before drying himself off. Once he was dressed he wrapped a scarf around his head and tucked it into the front of his leather raincoat. He grabbed a few things in his room, butting them into pockets and a rain hat before leaving.

Anora was standing in the hallway, looking into Calli’s room, though didn’t go in, just lingering at the frame, like she was hiding. Spayar walked down to her and looked in. Their mother was in Calli’s room, quietly and efficiently folding clothes and packing a bag for Calli. He touched Anora’s shoulder, making her jump and spin to him. “Spayar,” she squeaked.

“Are you packed?” he asked her. She nodded mutely. “Good.”

“You look scary,” she told him.

“Good,” he said again and leaned down to kiss the top of her head, “Don’t give our parents a hard time,” he told her, on her shoulder her chimera squeaked and fanned its bat-like wings. 

“Are you leaving?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ll see you in Gorum soon,” he promised, and then headed for the stairs. He felt heavy as he walked down them to the front door. No one came to see him off, and he was glad they didn’t. He still stopped just inside the door and looked back at the stairs. Then he pushed the door open out into the rain and went to get his horse. The rain had fizzled out to a cold, miserable, drizzle and a dense fog clung to the ground. 

She snorted when she saw him and shifted in her stall, “Back out in it, girl,” he said and was glad he’d at least dried her off a bit before going inside. He’d been in there longer than he’d anticipated. He grunted as he pulled himself into the saddle, he was tired. He probably wouldn’t get to sleep till tonight though. “C’mon,” and he kicked her sides gently, getting his mare to go off at a brisk canter.

—

Tallalsala was still in the throne room when he arrived, though it was considerably less full than the last time he’d been in it, no doubt her allies were sleeping. But Tallalsala was tireless, her blue eyes sharp and alert, still in the same clothes as last night, the train of her naming day gown edged in dried blood. She was speaking with someone, Spayar would learn who they were later, but he waited for his turn. Calli was nowhere in sight and the only people in the throne room were guards and an older man with a septum piercing who was sitting to the side, eyes closed.

The man Tallalsala was speaking to left and Spayar bowed to her, removing his hat and pulling down his scarf, “Your majesty,” he said.

“Where did you go?” she asked sharply, “I have reports you left the palace.”

Spayar’s brow furrowed, “I returned home, to make myself presentable,” he said evenly, “As you commanded once Narn was done with me. Would you have preferred I stand before you now in rain and blood soaked clothes?” he asked her.

Her face became pinched, “No,” she said.

“Then, my lady, I only left to ensure I was properly groomed, and now here I am, as you have ordered. What do you want of me?”

Her eyes narrowed, “What did you do Hillsman?” she asked.

“Do?” he asked, he didn’t have to force his confusion. He’d done many things last night, which one had Tallalsala found out about?

“The Clan chieftains think my Archon is a _fool_ and will not do as he says. What did you _do_?” she demanded.

He blinked, really he should have known Tallalsala wouldn’t find one of the more intricate hurts against her just yet. “Do, your majesty? I didn’t do anything than what was ordered of me. I went with Narn to meet the Clan and led them back to the palace, and then on his orders helped them secure a place to sleep in the bad weather. Perhaps you should ask your Archon what he _didn’t_ do?”

“Are you questioning my Archon’s motives?” she hissed.

“Of course not, your majesty,” he said, “But perhaps the fault of the Clan finding your Archon a fool is because he was one?” She glowered at him as he continued, “He was disrespectful to the chieftains, and the Ferek for sure, and then didn’t know what to do once we arrived at the Palace. I would never call Narn incompetent,” except he would, “but perhaps he needs a stronger hand to guide him since he can’t do things on his own.”

Tallalsala bristled but they both knew Spayar hadn’t said anything out of turn. All the guards would see her punish Spayar for nothing and the tale would spread if she did so. An Asuras was supposed to be fair and just. Wrongfully punishing someone for doing the task assigned would gain her no respect. All Tallalsala could do was glare.

“What do you need of me, your majesty?” Spayar asked after a rather long silence.

“You will meet with the Clan, and _fix_ this mess,” she sneered. “My brother always went on about how you could always fix any mess. Well _fix this one_.”

Spayar didn’t like the sound of that past tense, but there wasn’t a lot he could do now, or ask about him. “Of course your majesty,” and he bowed, “Do I have permission to do or take whatever is required to do so?”

“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth, “And any who disobey will be dealt with.”

Spayar smiled slightly, “Then I take my leave at your pleasure.”

“Go, fix it, I don’t want to see your face until the Clan knows who is in charge.”

“Of course,” he bowed and left the throne room. 

He tugged his hat back on as he left the palace and entered the fog covered grounds and headed to where the Clan had setup their encampment. It was a miserable sight of sodden tents and weak, wet fires. As he neared it he heard the grumblings. The Clan lived in the wild, without cities, or modern Alliance houses, but they were at least used to sleeping where it was dry. Here though it seemed no one was dry after last night.

Spayar stopped when several forms loomed out of the fog, they were four legged and Spayar held very still when a lion and three hyenas came up to him. He swallowed but didn’t move. One of the hyenas sniffed his fingers. The lion was female and eyed him as she circled around him. The hyenas yipped and ran a circle around him before skidding in the mud in front of him, legs slightly splayed, looking at him expectantly.

There was a whistle and the hyenas perked up and ran back into the fog, the lioness didn’t move, and neither did Spayar.

“Yous aren’t afraid of her are yous?” a voice asked and two people stepped out from the fog. Both he didn’t recognize past them being Ferek.

“Respect for death is not the same as fear,” Spayar said.

They laughed, “Who is yous?” one said, hand on his belt, white, spots had been tattooed onto his face.

“I am Spayar Hillsman, I’m looking for Cati,” he smiled a little.

They traded looks, “Yous him? Yous oftly young,” the other said, he had black lines from the corners of his mouth going up to his cheeks to elongate his smile.

“Well she hasn’t met my father, so I assume so,” he said and they laughed again, the one with the black tattoos laughed like a hyena.

“Come, wes show yous to Cati,” the spotted man said and beckoned, he followed after them. They clicked their tongue against their teeth and the lioness peeled away from Spayar, going the same direction as the hyenas.

“Who are you?” Spayar asked.

“Nile,” the spotted man said.

“And Is be Hayd,” said other said. That was all they said and led Spayar through the fog past drooping tents and small, hard won, fires, to what Spayar thought was at first a circle of rocks. He then realized it was not rocks but rather collapsed tents and forms of people and animals huddled together to be warm in the rain. He’d purposefully put the Clan in a low part of the grounds, so that when the fogs came it’d be miserable, and seeing them now he felt only a twinge of regret. 

“Cati,” Nile called as they entered the Ferek part of the camp, some forms raised their heads but through the fog it was nearly impossible to see. Spayar continued to follow Nile and Hayd though they didn’t have that far to go before arriving at their destination.

Cati sat with one of the witch doctors, his staff lighting up the area weakly, without the sun or the moon visible a witch doctor’s magic was weak, since it relied directly on the light of the sun in ways other wizards didn’t. She sat on a log and looked wet and cold and angry. “Cati,” Nile said again, “Spayar Hillsmans is here to see yous.”

Cati’s head twitched up and then she stood gracefully, “ _d’aelar_ ,” she said and took a few steps over to him.

“Cati,” he would have called her chieftain, but Cati was not one, she was a turncoat from the Ferek if anything, and no doubt would not be welcome back. None of these men or women who’d followed her would be, for they went against the will of their tribe.

“What are yous doing here?” she asked.

“Looking for you, and the others,” he said.

She spat, “Theys can all go to the Shadows,” she hissed, “Ferek do not use magic, all they gave the Ferek was one witch to help against the rain.”

“I’m sorry,” Spayar said, “Shall I have a mage come and assist?” he asked.

She seemed taken aback, “Yous would?” she asked him.

He nodded, “I am here to make your life easy,” he told her.

“And where is that clucking _Archon_?” she growled.

“Not here,” he said, “I’m here to fix his mistakes from last night. You tell me what you need, or want, and I will see it done.”

Cati looked at him and then around at her people, “Dry blankets,” she said, looking back at him, “A mage to keep the rain off us long enough to sent up a real camp, and one to dry the land. Its too wet here, we can get nothing done.”

Spayar nodded and drew a pad he’d brought with him, knowing he’d probably be running errands for people all day and would need to keep records of what he was doing at any time. “Do you have food?” he asked and wrote a quick list in graphite, reminding himself he still wanted to get his hands on one of those pens that didn’t require an inkwell.

“Not hot,” she said.

“I’ll have some sent,” Spayar said, still writing, “And some men from the palace to help you set up your tents.”

Cati was staring at him, “Yous do much,” she said, surprised.

“Would you prefer I do less?” he asked, glancing up at her.

“No,” she shook her head, “I didn’t know yous had the power for all that.”

He chuckled, “I have the power to do _many_ things, Cati,” he smirked.

“Whats is the price of this?” because she wasn’t stupid.

“Just your continued cooperation and loyalty. Nothing more than that.”

“An easy pill to swallows then,” she smiled, showing off her filed teeth.

“Anything else you desire?” he asked her and then swallowed when she stepped right up to him, getting uncomfortably close.

“I could think of a few more things,” she said and flicked her finger against his notebook, her eyes bright. Right, he’d forgotten about this during the night.

He casually stepped away, maintaining an appropriate space between them, “Perhaps another time. I still need to meet with the chieftains,” he tucked the graphite and pad back into his jacket.

She frowned, clearly upset to have been turned down, again, “May Nile and Hayd accompany yous?” she asked.

He looked over at the two men, who were standing there still, watching. “Are they your seconds?” he asked.

“In a sense,” she said, “They are my brothers, and it would do they well to see how the Asuras handles her business.”

He looked over at Nile and Hayd, and then back at Cati, he didn’t see the resemblance. “They may come,” he said, “All the better if they can show me where the chieftains are.”

“Show him,” Cati said in a finalizing way. They nodded eagerly but before they could go she grabbed them both by their long pony tails and pulled, making their heads face the sky. “Do not mess this up, and do _not_ make me a fool,” she hissed.

“Yes, sister,” Nile and Hayd said, nodding and she released them. They rubbed their scalps.

“This way,” Nile said and he and Hayd led the way out of the Ferek part of the camp.

Spayar met with Blue, Jem and the brother chief tans Myst and Ryver and as with Cati asked them what they desired. They all wanted dry blankets, and while the brothers asked for mages to dry the ground Spayar noted that they had the driest land underfoot. He wouldn’t send mages there. Jem was insulted by Nile and Hayd’s presence, but at least had the mind to not complain.

“Are you really a _d’aelar_?” Nile asked once they’d met with the others and were heading back to the palace.

“Yes,” Spayar said.

“There hasn’t been a _d'aelar_ in three centuries, how do you know?”

Spayar stopped, and looked at the brothers, though he still didn’t see the family resemblance, “Because the rest of the Le’Acard are jealous of my existence and devotion to my Asuras,” he said. “And because I am every inch of Masalla,” and he saw he’d scared the brothers. Sinou’s _d'aelar_ had been a terrifying woman both in battle and politically, and as the first she was the measure all _d'aelar_ after her were put against. With that he turned back around and continued towards the palace.

Getting the blankets and hot food was easy, all he had to do was speak with the headman in charge of the servants. The dry goods were sent, along with some dry wood for fires since the Clan wouldn’t go into the Elfswood, and Spayar could move on to the actual difficult part of the requests; the wizards.

It was not unknown that most people didn’t like the Clan, but they were like rats, and you’d never be able to kill them. So, for the most part, the Clan was tolerated, so long as followed the laws of the Alliance. Spayar knew that, and knew that most wizards trained by the Wizen especially looked down on the Clan witch doctors. This would be annoying, about as much as not knowing who was the archmage of Tallalsala’s coup.

Spayar peered into the throne room, pulling magic up over his eyes and saw several people blaze like candles, and then on the throne was Tallalsala who looked like she was a campfire in comparison. Weaker than Von magically that was for sure. His eyes tracked to the next largest spark, as Tallalsala would keep her highest authorities close to her. Narn was there, standing at his place behind her throne, leering down at everyone. He wasn’t brilliant though, and thus unimportant. There were no wizards in the throne room powerful enough to ever be considered an archmage.

Then a thought came to him. What if Tallalsala’s archmage wasn’t powerful? She’d aligned herself with the Clan, the oddest wizards. Most people capable of filling the role of being an archmage wanted nothing to do with witch doctors. Spayar turned and looked back at the brothers. They were staring open mouthed at the palace courtyard and the tower like the country boys they were, unused to being around such splendor.

“Hayd, Nile,” Spayar said sharply, making them turn, “Lets go,” and he walked away from the throne room.

“You aren’t going to talk to the Asuras?” Hayd asked.

“No,” Spayar said and went to find the headman again. Modin was a middle aged man with graying brown hair, a squat, rotund, frame, and a moon round face the color of sour milk.

“What is it now?” Modin asked, today he was frazzled from the abrupt shift of power within his kingdom. His kingdom being the castle. “I already had what you asked for sent to the Clan,” and he turned away from Spayar to mark something on a paper someone held for him before they ran off again.

“Does Tallalsala have a archmage?” he asked and started to walk along side Modin.

“How should I know?” Modin asked and someone else came running up to them, Modin didn’t stop walking and they asked their question about curtains. Modin’s reply was sharp and they fled quickly.

“You know,” was all Spayar said, “You know everything.”

Modin eyed him, “No, she doesn’t. Or if she does they haven’t arrived yet,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “Now what do you want Hillsman? I’m very busy.”

“As am I,” Spayar said, “Where is Tallalsala housing her wizards?”

At that Modin stopped, “Tallalsala has no wizards,” he said.

Spayar blinked, “She has no wizards?” he asked.

“Perhaps one or two, but none that require a mage’s quarters,” he said and then looked past Spayar at the brothers who were barely paying attention and were bickering quietly over a vase that was as tall as Spayar was. “Isn’t that why she brought the Clan? No wizards, only witch doctors.”

That floored Spayar, “Thank you Modin,” Spayar said and bowed quickly, “Nile, Hayd,” he called and then quickly walked away. The brothers loped after them.

—

The fog had lifted somewhat when Spayar made it back to the Clan camp, but it was still hard to see. Nile and Hayd led him through the camp to the Ferek portion. As they walked through he saw many more fires, brighter and warmer than before, and more than one clansman wrapped in a fresh, dry, blanket. Good. He frowned when they reached the Ferek area, there was one fire in the center.

“Cati,” Nile called as they walked into the area.

Spayar jerked back when a lion ran in from out of the fog. Only it wasn’t one lion, it was _three_ lions. Nile yelled something but it was like they didn’t hear and ran right into Spayar. For a moment he saw his life flash before his eyes as a lioness tackled him into the soft, muddy, earth. The lioness growled at him, another lioness and a male lion with a great mane circling them. Spayar held so still he started to tremble from the effort and not a little fear from the great cat in front of him. In one motion they could kill him.

“Yous think this is a jokes?” Cati’s voice cut through the fog and terror.

“Sister why did yous do this?” Hayd was asking and Spayar was just looking at the lioness, his eyes wide. The lioness had her lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing her huge, sharp, teeth.

Cati and her brothers were talking, Spayar honestly couldn’t be bothered to pay attention. He was _far_ more worried about those sharp teeth. “ _D’aelar,_ ” Cati suddenly snapped.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Did yous know this would happen?”

“What? A giant lion on me? No,” he wanted the lioness to get away from him.

“Where are the wizards, and blankets, and food you promised the Ferek would get?” Cati pushed the lioness’ face out of the way and was crouched over Spayar’s head, glaring at him.

“They aren’t here?” he asked, trying to get his bearings now that the lioness was out of his face and he could breathe properly.

“No. The Da’cull, Barou and Clevenger all got theirs. Where is the Ferek’s?” she demanded.

He blinked, “I don’t know,” he said.

“Sister, please, he didn’t do anything wrong,” Nile said and pushed the lioness away from him finally, the big cat stepping away from his prone body.

“Where are they Hillsman?” she demanded. Spayar said nothing for a moment. He wasn’t in danger now, Cati was just upset, she wouldn’t have let her lioness kill him. The Ferek didn’t get any of the supplies he’d sent. Why? “ _D’aelar_ ,” she snapped when he took too long.

“Get out of my face so I can figure it out,” he said in a hard voice, and she looked surprised and insulted by that. He didn’t care. He grunted and sat up and pushed himself to his feet. His back was covered in mud. He cursed and looked around the Ferek encampment better. One central fire for the small group of Ferek, and it smoldered grossly from wet logs. He saw no one with blankets, the tents were still in a state, and everyone looked miserable in the foggy morning. He’d seen other clansmen with the supplies, so where were the ones for the Ferek?

“Where are your supplies?” he asked softly to no one, it was a rhetorical question.

“Not here,” Cati snarled, she didn’t seemed to grasp the concept.

He looked back at her, “They should have come,” he said, “The other tribes got theres,” he looked back towards where the Ferek encampment met the Barou one. There was a clear divide between the people with supplies and those without. He frowned. “What happened?” he asked himself lowly and licked his lips, then he looked back at the center of the Ferek camp.

“Well?” Cati demanded.

“I’ll be back. Nile,” he said sharply and the man straightened, “Take me to see Blue,” he ordered. Nile nodded and quickly led Spayar through the fog towards where the Barou were settled. As they walked Spayar grabbed his power and wove a spell to make the mud slide off his back. Once he was once more mudless he turned his thoughts back onto the task at hand.

They arrived at Blue’s tent shortly, he sat in front of a large fire, warming himself. “Ah, Hillsman, so good to see you again-

“Do you wish to insult me?” Spayar talked right over him, Nile moved behind Spayar quickly, looking nervous.

“Excuse me?” Blue asked, looking up at him.

“You and the other chieftains took _all_ the supplies,” he said in a hard voice. “So I don’t know if you’re just a sexist pig, or you purposefully are spitting on my fucking face for the charity I give you. Because right now I have a very wet, and angry, lion tamer to deal with and your gluttony is not helping me.”

Blue stood, he wasn’t as tall as Spayar and had to look up at him. “Is took what Is needed,” he said in a dangerous tone.

“But not what you were given,” Spayar said.

“Yous do not get to talk to me like that boy-

Spayar straightened, standing up even taller, “I am above you,” he said, “Do not mistake my kindness or servitude for meekness, Blue,” he said. “You and the others stole supplies meant for the Ferek,” Blue’s eyes narrowed, “So what are you then? A sexist? Or an asshole?”

Blue glared at him, “Get out of my camp.”

Spayar narrowed his eyes right back, “The Asuras will be informed of your disobedience,” and then he turned on his heel and marched away, he flicked his hand at Nile and the other man sprang after him.

“Do yous often threaten men who could kill yous?” Nile asked as they walked.

“I’m not afraid of some Clan chieftain,” Spayar said, “I could destroy him with a word,” or a series, but the fact remained that Spayar was a mage and death would have been easy.

“Where are we going?”

“To make those idiots regret mocking and disobeying me,” he said and headed towards the palace but as they got closer he started to head for the stables. Inside the stables it was warm, and smelled of animals, Nile looked excited and went to look at one of the horses inside their stall. “How many people did your sister bring?” Spayar asked Nile.

“Fifty,” Nile said, petting the horse, who seemed very happy to have the attention.

“Keep up, this place is easy to get lost in,” Spayar said and tugged on the end of Nile’s long ponytail. The man disengaged from the horse and followed after Spayar.

Most of the stalls were empty, the horses all gone from people leaving the city, the mass exodus of Verilia, Teldin, and Dellin’s followers who needed to get out and do so quickly. There were some other animals in the stables as well, but they were all locked up still, some of them sleeping curled up on the ground. Nile sometimes stopped and peered through the stall gates at the animals within, but for the most part kept up.

Spayar found the stablehand room quickly, it was a large room, out of the way of the stalls and next to the tack room. There were only a few within and looked like they were napping or playing cards. They all looked up when Spayar opened the door.

“Where is everyone?” Spayar asked, the palace stables employed a small army to tend to all the animals, run the kennels and the falconry. There were only six hands in the big room. A tiny fraction of the number who worked here.

“Home,” one said, “Or they went to deliver the horses back to their owners.”

“Where’s the Stable Master?”

“He left with Virilia,” another said.

Spayar frowned, “Who’s in charge _right now_?”

“Jill. At least until Marki returns-

“If he returns. He looked like his soul had been sucked out his body when he left to return that horse.”

“Where is Jill?” he didn’t see the redhead among them. “One of you take me to him,” he ordered.

A girl got up and went to the door, looking out it. “He’s down that hall,” she pointed, “One of the eurgi whelped this morning, he’s with him.”

“You have eurgi?” Nile asked.

“Later,” Spayar waved Nile off before he could get too excited, damn Ferek. “Thank you,” and he started down the corridor she’d mentioned, Nile close behind.

Nile jumped forward excitedly when the arrived at the proper stall, the top part of the door open. Spayar looked over the top and smiled a little, Jill was leaning against the wall, sleeping, the mother eurgi had his head in his lap, four pups were clutched around his stomach.

“Jill!” he yelled. Jill startled awake, and so did the eurgi which hissed at him, its tail going erect. Eurgi were cousins of the manticore, with a barbed tail and a mostly feline body, only they were smaller, spotted, and an almost snake-like face instead of a manticore’s feline face. They made good watch animals apparently.

“Spayar?” Jill asked, rubbing his eyes, The eurgi whined and curled around his pups. “What’re you doin’ here?” he got to his feet shakily before becoming more awake.

“I need help, get over here,” and Jill staggered to the stall door. “I have fifty Ferek that need a warm place to stay,” Spayar said.

Jill looked at him, and then looked at Nile who was leaning on the door, looking like he wanted to just fall right inside, then back at Spayar. “Ferek?” he asked. Spayar nodded slowly. Jill ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, “I don’t know where-“ Spayar gave him a look, “Oh… really?” Spayar nodded again. “I don’t know,” Jill frowned.

“I was told you’re in charge-

“Marki’s in charge-

“Marki isn’t coming back,” Spayar said.

Jill’s mouth went tight, the stablehands had known that, even though they hadn’t wanted to believe it. “He isn’t,” Jill agreed, though didn’t seem happy about it. “Most of the stable hands left,” he said, “As in not coming back.”

“So the ones returning horses?”

Jill swallowed thickly, “Most ain’t coming back,” he said, “Lot of the servants left too. They all scared.”

“I know,” Spayar said. “I need you and the stable hands left to clear out enough stalls for fifty Ferek and their animals.”

“Fifty?” Jill ran his hand through his hair again, “That’s a lot to ask Spayar, after last night? Half our stalls aren’t mucked out still-

“We’ll muck ‘em,” Nile said, turning to look at Jill for the first time, seeing that the eurgi was ignoring him.

“I don’t know,” Jill said, “does the princess know?”

“No,” Spayar said, “But then she didn’t claim me for herself thinking she needed to hold my hand the entire time.”

“What about-

“I don’t know,” Spayar said, “Somewhere. I hope.”

Jill frowned, “Me too,” he nodded shortly.

“Fifty Ferek,” Spayar got them back on track.

“We got room,” he said, “Stalls need to be cleaned,” he looked at Nile, “You said you’d do it?”

“Wes can,” he nodded, “Wes Ferek are used to cleaning up after animals. And this be better than being outside in that wet,” he made a face that made the spots on his face bunch up.

“Okay,” Jill said, “I can find the space,” he said and opened the stall door. The eurgi inside moaned miserably.

“He’ll be okay?” Spayar asked.

“Ye, he’s just a big ole’ baby is all,” Jill sent the eurgi a look. “Eurgi are so dramatic when they whelp.”

“Nile,” Spayar said, “Go back to your camp and bring everyone here. Only Ferek though.”

“Our babies too?” Nile asked.

“Yes them too,” Spayar said and then turned to Jill, “they have elephants.”

“O’ course they do,” Jill sighed and rubbed his head. “I’ll find space.”

“Go,” Spayar shooed Nile away, “You don’t need to rush,” he added, Nile nodded with a big grin and left to find his way out of the stable.

“You ask for a lot Spayar,” Jill said once Nile was gone.

“Do I ever ask for less?” he asked Jill.

Jill gave him a long look. “No. C’mon,” and he led Spayar back to where the other stablehands were. “Oi!” he yelled when he threw the door open, “Get up, we got work!” and they all jumped to their feet, even the sleeping ones. “I need all the animals from stalls B-three to F-six moved to other stalls, tack gone, troughs taken out, emptied of everything.”

“That’s like fifty cells,” someone said, as they stared at Jill in what Spayar realized was horror.

“I know,” Jill said, “We got Ferek moving into our stables. People. They’ll muck the stalls, but I need them empty and I need them empty _now_.” Spayar watched with some amusement as the stable hands jumped to and raced out of the room, all of them knowing they had a lot of work to do.

“You look good as a Stable Master,” Spayar told Jill once they were gone.

“Come off it,” Jill rolled his eyes, “That all? I got work to do now.”

“Don’t forget the elephants,” Spayar added.

Jill sighed, “‘Course not,” and he left Spayar, headed after his crew.

Alone for the first time in a few hours Spayar felt the ache of exhaustion wash over him. He hadn’t slept since the night before, and it had been a fitful sleep at that. For the first time he yawned and realized that right now he had nothing to do, he could afford to rest. He looked into the room the stablehands had been in and went in. He’d just sit down a moment until the Ferek had come back. But only for a moment. Spayar went in an sat on the chair, grateful it wasn’t terribly comfortable, and leaned against the table.

He’d close his eyes for only a moment. Then he’d get up and go do what he had to do. Just a moment and then he’d get up. As soon as he closed his eyes though he was asleep.

—

It was a frantic hour. Jill’s hands hurt and his voice was hoarse from calling to the others to do this or that or make sure everything was moved. They didn’t bother with cleaning. Just get _everything_ out of the stalls.

When a wolf was spotted at the end of a hall Jill knew their time was up. He started swearing and went to where the wolf was, telling the others to keep working. The wolf wagged its tail at him and then trotted away. Jill followed it and was led to the Ferek who were all bunched up inside his stables to get out of the fog. No few of them were peering into stalls and trying to touch the horses. The horses were terrified, mainly of the strange animals in the stables, most of which smelled dangerous.

A woman strode up to him, she looked like any member of the Clan, short with black hair, slightly slanted eyes, and yellowish skin, and when she spoke Jill could see her filed teeth. “Wheres is the _d’aelar_?” she asked and what Jill had thought were scars were in fact whiskers tattooed onto her cheeks.

“Uh… I don’t know. Around,” he said, intimidated just by her breathing in his vicinity.

“Who is yous?”

“Uh Jill,” he said awkwardly, “I’m… I’m the Stable Master,” he said, remembering what Spayar had said an hour ago.

She eyed him, “Is see,” she said, “Find the _d’aelar_ ,” she ordered.

“I can show-

“Find me the _d’aelar_ ,” she said again. He nodded and left quickly. He had no idea where Spayar was though. He spent ten minutes looking around the stable and finally found him in the break room. He was slumped across the table, sleeping. Jill’s mouth went thin. He hadn’t missed how tired Spayar had looked.

Jill stood at the doorway and knew he needed to go inside and wake Spayar up. For some reason though he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Spayar had told him what had happened when he’d brought his mare- the pretty roan warhorse without a name Jill secretly called Lady- to be kept safe while he did Tallalsala’s bidding. Jill felt bad for him, and wondered if he was the only one who’d ever pity Spayar instead of envy him. 

Jill sucked his teeth lightly before deciding. He closed the door and went back to the Ferek. The woman was still there, “Where is Hillsman?” she asked sharply.

“He’s busy,” Jill said, trying to at least pretend he had half the courage Spayar had. “He said I was to show you where you’ll be staying.”

She scoffed, “Yous? Do not waste my time,” she sneered.

He frowned, “You can follow me to a dry place to let your people stay, or you can go back outside in the wet. Makes no difference to me,” and then he turned and started walking away. He was glad they started to follow him.


	22. Land of the Lai

The wind made a miserable moaning sound this high up, threading through the bars of the cells of the ‘dungeon’. It tugged at Diylan’s hair like a cyclone sprite’s fingers and Diylan, for once, found it annoying.

“You’re an idiot,” Gard said, on the other side of the wall that separated their two cells. This wasn’t the first time he’d said it either. “An absolute, blundering, idiot.”

“I’m aware,” Diylan said dully staring across his cell. He’d met with the Lord and had done… well, it didn’t really matter what Diylan had or hadn’t done. All that mattered was that he’d messed up, and now not only was Gard a prisoner, but so was he.

“If Spayar was here this never would have happened.”

“I agree,” Diylan said, “But he isn’t.”

“Unfortunately,” Gard said, though he couldn’t see the prince. They were sitting with their backs to each other, the wall separating them but there was no roof or other walls really, so they could hear each other easily. They sat in silence for a while, “What are going to do now? Its almost nightfall,” he said.

“We could try and plead again?”

“No,” Gard dismissed the idea. “I will not beg for mercy from an idiot.”

“Any ideas then?”

“You’re a flighter Diylan-

“Hathus would get shot out of the sky,” Diylan said, “They have wizards here too.”

“We can’t just _stay_ here though. And you hold the way to get out.”

“And what would it look like if we escaped, huh?” Diylan demanded, looking up at the twilight sky. Gard had no reply for that.

“What would Spayar do though?” Gard asked.

“He’d talk himself out of this mess is what,” Diylan said, “Or never would have done this to begin with because the damn guy breathes etiquette.”

“Even though he hates it,” Gard said, so soft Diylan almost missed it.

“What?”

“Spayar hates etiquette,” Gard said, “You should hear him when he’s talking with commoners. Sounds right at home without all the pomp of courtly life.”

“Well bastard’s still good at it.”

“He is,” Gard agreed. They were silent for a while, the sky darkened to indigo and deep magenta and the magenta finally to plum. The sun’s afterglow was magnificent from the top of the tower. “No one would notice if we went now,” Gard said.

“Not a good idea.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it isn’t-

“Yes it is! Just summon your damn wyrm Diylan and lets get out of here,” Gard said.

“Gard I can’t just do that. Why are you so desperate? Normally you know when plans are stupid,” Diylan looked at the wall behind him like he could see Gard through it.

“Remember how they think I’m a demon?”

“Yes and I’m your singer, whatever the hell _that_ means,” Diylan rolled his eyes.

“They’re going to _exorcise_ me tomorrow,” Gard said.

“ _Exorcise_?” Diylan asked, he had no idea what that crazy word was, it wasn’t even in feylon.

“It means when they draw out the ‘evil’ energy of a demon or spirit from a person and banish it back to wherever it came,” Gard explained.

“Okay? This is bad I take it?”

“Usually it involves blood letting until the ‘evil’ is gone. In my case my ‘evil’ is my hair, and ears.”

Diylan was quiet for a long while, “They’re going to kill you,” he said.

“Unintentionally I’m sure. But yes. That’s their plan. Death is considered a ‘successful’ _exorcism_.”

“Right,” and Diylan got to his feet. “Get up, we’re leaving.”

“Really?”

“Yeap,” and he reached to touch the bond with Hathus, ‘ _Hathus, love, are you strong?’_

‘ _For you, always,_ ’ she whispered against his mind.

‘ _Then come, I need you.’_

 _‘I come_ ,’ and Diylan watched as the air rippled and was finally torn open by his wyrm, which crawled out onto the top of the tower. The other few prisoners up here started yelling and Hathus’ great bulk broke a few of the cells. “Hathus,” he called.

She ripped down the walls and Diylan scrambled over to Gard, yanking him to his feet and over to the wyrm. “Guards,” Gard said and Diylan looked as the guards came out of their little house, swords drawn, and started yelling in hapese.

“Up, up,” Diylan dragged Gard up onto Hathus’ back, putting him in front, “Hold onto my arms,” he ordered, Gard did as was told and Diylan leaned forward, pressing the prince into Hathus’ back as he said, ‘ _Go!_ ’

Hathus leapt into the arm and he heard Gard gave a cry from the rush as they were flattered against Hathus’ back. Gard gave another yelp when the pressure was off them and for a second they floated above her saddle. Diylan twisted his wrists, wrapping the reigns around his and Gard’s arms. _‘West, west_ ,’ he told Hathus, ‘ _away_.’

Gard squeezed his arms hard when Hathus banked abruptly and pressed against his back. Diylan pressed his thighs against Gard’s keeping him in place as they flew. Below the city was sounding an alarm but Hathus was too fast and soon she’d taken them up and out of arrow range. Here the icy wind cut through Diylan’s fine clothes, chilling him to the bone, though Gard was relatively warm in Diylan’s flak jacket still.

They flew out of Tokon and headed west, towards the mountains, towards the capital. If Gard wanted to be received properly they had to find the Go-Sanai, the Southern Emperor.

“Diylan,” Gard asked after they’d made it a fair distance from Tokon.

“What?” he asked.

“Your hands are blue, you’re shivering,” he said, “You need to land.”

“I’m fine.”

“Diylan, _land_ ,” Gard ordered.

He didn’t, but he did let Hathus fly lower. She apparently had heard though and landed. “Hathus, what are you doing?” he demanded.

‘ _This one won’t have you freeze to death. You must live_ ,’ she said firmly.

“Damn wyrm,” he muttered.

Gard reached up and behind him, feeling his neck and face, “You’re freezing,” he said and twisted around to look at Diylan.

“I’m fine,” Diylan said, “I’m from the south, and the Spine, I’m used to the cold-

“No. You’re freezing, Hathus, let us down,” he said.

“Hey! You’re my wyrm, don’t listen to him,” Diylan cried in indignation when Hathus did lower herself to the ground.

‘ _This one listens to wisdom_ ,’ Hathus said.

Gard wiggled out of the saddle, “Gard- sit back down, you’re going to fall,” Diylan said as Gard stood up.

“No I’m not,” he said, “and if I’m standing you won’t try to fly,” he tugged off Diylan’s flak jacket and handed it to him. “Wear it,” he ordered.

“No. We still have a few hours to get to Lo-Gashuai, and you’re wearing a thin dress clothes,” Diylan said stubbornly.

“This isn’t up for debate Diylan,” he said, “I’m a fire mage. I can warm myself. Now take the flak jacket before we run out of afterglow,” he nearly shoved the jacket in Diylan’s face. He took it and shoved his arms through it and buckled all the buckles up to his chin. The wool and silk padding and the silk lining would keep Diylan warm. But Gard was just wearing his gaudy naming day clothes, ones that had seen better days, more than one seam having been popped since the night before. Was it really just the night before? It felt like a life time already.

“Happy?” Diylan asked, annoyed.

“Yes,” and Gard sat back down in front of Diylan. This time Diylan reached around and strapped Gard’s legs into the saddle and that seemed to reassure him, that he wouldn’t fall off when they banked and didn’t squeeze Diylan’s arms so hard when Hathus finally took back to the sky.

“You need to think of what you’re going to say to the Emperor when we reach Lo-Gashuai,” Diylan said as they flew into the purple afterglow of the last breath of daylight. “And how you’re going to convince him you _aren’t_ a demon.”

“I will,” Gard said and the prince’s back felt warmer than before: fire magic. “How long can Hathus fly at night?”

Diylan leaned around Gard to look at Hathus’ steadily beating wings. The brilliant colors that decorated the underside of her wings was still vibrant, but he knew they’d fade, and once they did, she’d fall out of the sky. Wyrms lived in a world of perpetual daylight, the sun never quite sinking below the horizon, or if it did, only briefly, and it gave them their power of both flight and breath. As the color faded from their wings, so would their ability to fly. But Hathus’ wings were still bright.

“She’ll make it to Lo-Gashuai, right Hathus?” Hathus bellowed and Gard covered his ears. Diylan laughed, “yeah, she’ll be fine,” he told Gard, “You just think of what you’ll need to do when we get there.” Gard nodded and leaned back against his chest, warmth wicking away from him as quickly as he could conjure it. Diylan just focused on flying.

—

Diylan knew they’d reached Lo-Gashuai because of the mist that had covered the land. This part of the Mos mountain range was known for its ocean of mists that crept over the mountains from the Jogäsum beyond it and flooded in the low land of western Anokai. It was said that the reason Lo-Gashuai had been chosen as the capital of Anokai after Ai had split was because of the mists. It was said that when the mist tide was high it was impossible to find Lo-Gashuai, which is how it earned its name.

From above though Diylan could see pale lights from the streets and buildings through the mists, which were low. Hathus was weakening, her wings lagged and he was thankful they were still in the air honestly. She’d done two night flights in a row and wasn’t up for them, they needed to land. ‘ _Hathus, land us outside the city.’_

 _‘Yes_ ,’ she said and he felt so guilty over how exhausted she sounded.

“Hold on,” Diylan told Gard who gripped his arms as Hathus dove. She flared her wings out as they approached the ground but her wing spazamed and she twisted in the air, going into an uncontrolled fall.

‘ _This one has you_ ,’ he said into her mind, fitting himself in there, giving her strength. Hathus rumbled and readjusted her wings and Diylan felt the strain in his arms, but he held them steady despite the tensing and straining of his muscles. The landing was a bit less than graceful into a field and Hathus fell forward in a heap, her legs crumpling under her.

Diylan was out of the saddle in an instant, as soon as they landed and jumped down from her back and ran to her head. “Hathus, Hathus,” he said, grabbing her head. Hathus rumbled weakly. “Thank you,” he hugged her huge head, “You did so good.”

“Is she okay?” Gard asked and had created a globe of light around his fist. He was standing on Hathus’ shoulder.

“She will be,” Diylan said, “Can you go home?” he asked her. She whined deeply. “Shhh, shhh, its okay,” he leaned on her head, stroking her snout. ‘ _Gatthus_ ,’ Diylan called, ‘ _Come get your sister. She needs you_.’

A portal opened in front of them, bathing them in purple light, and Gatthus crawled out, his belly nearly touching the ground. Hathus shifted and Diylan heard Gard yelp and fall from her shoulder. Gatthus went to his sister’s side and pushed his side against her’s helping her to her feet. “Rest,” Diylan said, releasing Hathus’ head. “This one won’t call you for a time,” he promised.

‘ _When you call, this one will come_ ,’ Hathus said regardless and he felt her love through their bond fill his entire body. He didn’t know how other flighters claimed to love their wives when it seemed so insignificant next to their wyrm. No one would love them like their wyrms would.

Gatthus helped Hathus through the portal and then it closed as their gray tails vanished through the yawning darkness. _‘Hathus_?’

‘ _This one is here. Always_ ,’ she said and Diylan felt better. ‘ _Sun feels good_ ,’ and now he knew she was safe at home.

“She going to be okay?” Gard asked.

Diylan turned to the prince, “Yeah. She’ll be fine. Now we need to head for the city.”

Gard nodded, “I hope they haven’t closed the gates,” he said.

“Fuck, right, I forget that not everywhere is like home,” Diylan frowned. Many of their largest cities had no inner or outer walls, because the noble families that ruled them were so feared or respected that no one would dare touch them. Neither Assarus or Surassa had walls.

“We can stay at an inn outside if needed,” Gard said.

“Yeah? With what money? They took it all,” he huffed.

Gard reached down and took off one of his shoes, “Something I learned when traveling with Spayar, who you know, is a worry wart at times. Always have money somewhere, in case something happens,” and he pulled a golden coin with a shiny, light pink, disk set into it.

“Is that… an atrus?” Diylan asked. Gard nodded. “I’ve never even seen one,” and Gard let him see it. It was the equivalent of ten gold atrins, one of the highest denomination of coin on the entire Shard. Only the Joti blue hengar was worth more and that had actual blue sapphires in it. He gave the gold and pink gold coin back to Gard. “Will they even accept it you think?”

“Maybe. I mean, it is gold,” Gard said, pocketing the coin. “And all countries on the Shard recognize gold as the standard of payment. They might not understand its worth though,” he sighed.

“So we might spend an entire atrus to stay at one shitty inn?”

“Something like that,” Gard rubbed his face with a sigh, “So, lets head for Lo-Gashuai,” he said, “While the mist is low and we can see it.” Diylan nodded and they started the walk out of the field they’d landed in to find a road.

It took them an hour to reach Lo-Gashuai, Gard lighting the way with his glowing hand. Sometimes it was good to have a fire mage around. The gates into the city were closed and most of the buildings that lined the road into the city were dark. “Now what?”

“There has to be _someplace_ open,” Gard said and Diylan followed the prince off the main road. They did find a building, the sign was painted with an inn and cup on it, which Diylan thought was odd. They went in, the place wasn’t too bad and stank of spirits that made Diylan’s stomach curl. He hated the smell of alcohol.

Gard spoke with a man at the bar, speaking in calm hapese to him while Diylan just stood behind him looking big and threatening. Eventually Gard handed over the atrus and to Diylan’s surprise, received change. It wasn’t nearly anywhere close to the worth of the coin though, instead being a handful of silver coins, but it was better than nothing. Gard was given a key and the inn keeper pointed down a hall. Diylan followed Gard to the room.

The room wasn’t what Diylan was expecting. There were no beds, and only a closet and low table, but no chairs, simply a mat. Gard lit some of the candles. “Where the hell are we going to sleep?” Diylan asked. The room was also tiny. “And just one room?”

“He said if I wanted two I’d get no change. So I just took it,” Gard sighed, “And I’m so tired I don’t even care.”

“Scalper,” Diylan growled. “But really? Beds, what the fuck is wrong with this country?” he huffed.

“They’re in the closet,” Gard said, going to it and opening it. There were several rolled up mats and some blankets and pillows in the closet. Gard pulled out one with some effort and threw it onto the ground where it sort of unrolled.

“These people are backwards as shit,” Diylan said, “No beds, sleeping on mats on the floor. There isn’t even any running water in this place,” because there was no bathroom. 

“Only the wealthy can afford running water,” Gard said, “They should have it in the palace.”

“I hope so, because I need a bath,” Diylan sighed as Gard pulled out another mat and laid them out side by side. “So just… go to the castle in the morning?”

“That’s the hope, yes,” Gard said.

“Hopefully there won’t be any guards waiting outside our door tomorrow because of the ‘blonde haired demon’,” Diylan groaned and threw himself down onto the mat. Gard threw a few pillows and a blanket at him making him grunt.

“Don’t hex us,” Gard told him.

“Sorry, sorry,” and Diylan crossed himself, touching each shoulder with his thumb and them the middle of his forehead.

Gard undressed a bit before crawling onto his mat. “Aren’t you going to undress?” he asked Diylan.

“No point. I won’t want to put on dirty clothes tomorrow. When you serve time it’s just… easier to sleep in your clothes,” and Gard extinguished a few of the candles.

“I’ve never served time,” Gard said.

“You’re too young,” Diylan said but did sit up to remove his boots at least. “And I foresee us all having to serve some time very soon,” he sighed and laid back down.

“Do you think Spayar’s okay?” Gard asked.

“Its Spayar,” he said, “I’m sure he’s already half way to Alderin by now.”

“Yeah but-

“Don’t think about buts,” Diylan said, “There’s no time or place for buts in war, Gard. Now, we need to get some rest to meet the Emperor tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” Gard said, but sounded nervous.

“Its going to be fine,” Diylan looked over at him, “Spayar told me to keep you safe, and trust me when I say I’m more afraid of Spayar than some Hapese Emperor,” and that made Gard laugh a little. “I’ll protect you till we meet back up with him.”

Gard nodded, “Goodnight,” he said and Diylan echoed him. Gard snuffed out the last candle and Diylan closed his eyes.

—

In the morning, he thought it was morning, it was hard to tell just what time it was with the shutters closed, Diylan woke confused of where he was. His first instinct was to panic and wonder where Gard was. His eyes flared open and for a moment he couldn’t see, then he turned and looked next to him and breathed out a breath he didn’t realize he’d held. Gard was sleeping next to him still and had Diylan’s hand under arrest, holding up it against his sternum. It explained why his arm felt all fuzzy.

He sat up, gently tugging his hand away from Gard and went to find a place to go to the bathroom. After two solid minutes of looking and thinking Diylan realized he was expected to piss into a bucket in the corner. These people were god damn heathens. He did so though, albeit grumbling.

Behind him, out of no where, Gard said, “I’m hungry.”

Mentioning it reminded Diylan he hadn’t eaten since Tallalsala’s party and that was… two nights ago. “Me too,” he said and finished his business.

“Lets go find something to eat before meeting the Emperor,” Gard said.

“Agreed,” Diylan said and sat on the ground to put his boots on. He was going to get sick of this shit real quick if these people didn’t start providing him with some god damn chairs. He was too tall to be going from standing to floor every time he wanted to sit. “You okay?” he asked Gard, who was just sitting and not looking at anything.

“I just… had trouble sleeping,” he said.

“Yeah? Why?”

Gard turned to him, “Why do you think? The Alliance is at war-

“The Alliance is always at war,” Diylan put in.

“I mean its in a Feytol War,” Gard said. The bloodshed for the throne of the Alliance had been going on for over fifteen hundred years when the sixth Asuras made it law so that the great nation couldn’t become splintered by many families vying for the throne. It was Le’Acard, or no one. He’d used the term feytol conflict to describe the purging of fey descendants, of which only the Le’Acard existed. “I’m at war with my family but my army, my allies, my everything, is across the fucking sea.”

“But,” Diylan said, “you’re alive, which I know is more than some of your siblings can say.”

Gard put his hand up to his forehead, “She just… cut Obi’s head off,” he said and Diylan saw the horror in his eyes. “Why does it have to be like this?” he asked Diylan.

“Because when it wasn’t it was worse,” Diylan reminded him. Before the sixth Asuras and the feytol conflict the Alliance had nearly ripped itself apart four times since the death of Sinou’s daughter. Feytol War prevented the war from consuming the entire country. Only cities and houses or people who aligned themselves with an heir were considered fair game for the war. When the feytol conflict started all cities had to declare a side, or their neutrality. Many remained neutral, sparing them from the destruction, since only cities with a side were allowed to be fought over. It minimized the destruction, and allowed the Alliance to survive. Without the Feytol Wars the Alliance wouldn’t exist, wouldn’t last.

“I know,” Gard said and he seemed so distraught by that, “I wish I could change it.”

“Declaring an order of accession wouldn’t help. It’d just cause your oldest child to murder you all the faster, or for those under them to murder their older siblings to sit beneath-

“I _know_ ,” Gard snapped. “Two dozen of my ancestors have tried to end the Feytol Wars. But they won’t end. Nothing fixes the need for a Le’Acard to sit on the throne without the provinces trying to marry our children and gain power besides feytol conflict,” he hung is head. “I just wish it wasn’t so.”

Diylan went over to him and rubbed his back, “We do what we have to,” Diylan said, “This is no time for boyish naivety, Gard. We need to get in contact with our allies, soon, and figure out what we’re going to do. Figure out how to make sure _you win_.”

Gard looked up at him, “I will win,” he said, “Because I have Spayar.”

“Yes,” Diylan nodded and helped him up. “Now get dressed.”

“Okay,” and Gard went and got dressed and visited the piss bucket, also complaining about it rather vocally.

Once Gard was dressed they left the room and the inn and apparently it was later than Diylan had expected. The sun was almost at its peak and the mist was low and while he could see it in the hills and mountains beyond the city none swirled around their feet. There were a lot of people out now and they were all doing that thing where they clearly wanted to openly stare at the tall redhead walking behind the blonde man, but were took polite to do so. So they just snuck looks and Diylan knew that if he turned around he’d probably catch a bunch of people gawking.

They had no trouble getting into the city. The houses were all one or two stories made of wood with slightly curved roofs that overhung at the peaks. It made the streets cramped and shadowed. The streets here were old and reminded Diylan of Cat’s Cradle and Smoker’s Den back in Assarus, twisting back and forth but seeming to not really go anywhere.

Eventually they did stop at an open air food stall. “Is that-“ Diylan asked.

“It is,” Gard said, “Rice.” Diylan had never seen so much rice in his life, it was all piled up in a huge bowl and surrounded by proteins and vegetables, all simmering in various broths. In the Alliance rice was hard to grow and had to be imported from countries like Joti, Anokai and Sengai and was extremely expensive the only port it came in to was Peonia and they set a high price for it.

“Lets eat here,” Diylan said and Gard nodded mutely and they sat at the bar. Gard talked to the black haired, blue eyed, man behind the counter and Diylan just stared at the mound of rice, mouth watering.

“Okay so,” Gard got his attention when he spoke feylon, “How it works is you get a base bowl of rice,” he handed Diylan a bowl with rice in it, “and then you can pick out other things to get put in it. Everything is a la carte.”

“Okay, he have red meat? I want some, and some of that yellow stuff,” he pointed at a bowl of some sort of simmering brown broth with yellow plant shoots in it. Gard relayed the information and the man put a scoop of the yellow shoots and a scoop of meat and their broth into Diylan’s bowl. His stomach rumbled loudly and he didn’t wait for Gard before he started eating. He didn’t realize quite how hungry he was until he started eating.

Before he knew it though his bowl was empty. The devastation on his face must have shown because the man who was behind the counter made a sympathetic, tutting, noise, and put a half portion of what he’d eaten into his bowl. “Gard,” he said, before he ate the food. “How do you say thank you in hapese?”

“Erm-“ Gard had his own mouth full of food. He chewed and swallowed before replying, “Esokei,” he said.

“Esokei?” Gard nodded and Diylan got the owner’s attention from where he was serving a young woman. He bowed in his seat, “Esokei,” he said. The man laughed and said something, “What’d he say?” he asked Gard.

Gard looked annoyed, _clearly_ he was trying to eat and Diylan wanted him to talk. He swallowed hard. “He said you remind him of his son, you enjoy food. Also this extra portion is free. So good job,” he said.

“Now I feel bad calling them backwards,” Diylan said, even as he smiled at the man. “Still no running water what the hell,” and he went on to devour the rest of the rice bowl.

They finished their food, and Gard paid the man, he spoke with the man before leaving. “I know how to get to the palace,” he said.

“Really? Good,” Diylan said.

“Though…”

“Though?”

Gard sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “When I spoke to the ambassador about visiting Anokai he told me… I might have to dye my hair.”

“What? Why?”

“Have you not noticed?” Gard gave him a look.

“Well yeah but I mean it isn’t that weird is it?”

“The Lai have a saying,” Gard said, “nail that sticks out gets hammered down. The Lai are conformists as much as the Feylon are nonconformists. Our hair,” he motioned to not only his own golden head, but Diylan’s vibrant red as well, “could be taken as an insult to the lai. Its too different.”

“Lai are weird,” Diylan said.

“Yes. Hopefully it won’t prevent us from getting an audience with the Emperor.”

“Yeah, that’d be bad. Maybe we should buy hats?” he said and that made Gard laugh a little. “Though nothing’s going to make them stop staring at me, I’m too tall,” he sighed.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that. Now I think its this way,” Gard said, pointing down street. Diylan just followed him and tried to ignore the stares he was getting.


	23. Neutrality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to say that kudos and comments are important for original stuff. I have no way to gauge how much people even like my original stuff. Or what they think of the characters. If you read it, maybe leave something nice in the comments, or something insightful. It’d mean a lot to me.

Spayar didn’t sleep. He should have, he was exhausted, but his body hadn’t found rest in the night after dealing with absolute _idiots_ the past day. Just standing by, watching. It didn’t help that he still hadn’t seen his sister.

He was laid out on his bed in a room Tallalsala had provided for him, staring at the ceiling. His nap at the stables had been his only sleep in about forty-eight hours and frankly the only place he’d felt safe enough to sleep. In this pretty cage Spayar didn’t feel confidant or comfortable in being so defenseless that he’d sleep. The bent sword he’d been carrying around with him lay on the floor where he’d thrown it the night before in anger.

There was a knock on the door. He pretended he didn’t hear. The knocking continued, then stopped, “Spayar?”

Spayar lurched out of the bed and practically threw himself across the room to rip the door open. “Calli,” he breathed and the next moment he had her in his embrace. Calli cried into his chest and he just held her and pulled her into his room so they’d be away from prying eyes.

Calli clung to him rather desperately, her sniffling and tears as much relief as misery. Spayar pressed his face onto the top of his sister’s head, just thankful she was safe, was alive, and was with him again. He also felt the burn of anger and hate in his gut towards Tallalsala and Narn. He would destroy them. Even if he didn’t end up killing them he’d make them wish they were dead. Dirinnan he might be Spayar was feylon to his core and feylon did not let slights past them, much less such grievous infractions to their honor and trust.

He gently pried Calli off him so he could look at her. Calli was still dressed as a lady in waiting with the white face, darkly kholed eyes, bright red lips and clothes that showed too much. Her tears had left streaks in her makeup, making it run, ruining it. He felt a pain deep in his chest at seeing his sweet sister like this, “Don’t cry,” he said and kissed her forehead, “Don’t cry its going to be okay,” but her tears didn’t stop and he didn’t tell her to stop.

He sat her down on the bed and went about cleaning her face of that makeup to reveal her rich, dark, skin. The tears didn’t stop but her sobs did. “Has Tallalsala hurt you?” he asked her.

“No,” she croaked.

“Has anyone _touched_ you?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Tallalsala said if anyone did anything to me without her permission she’d punish them.”

“Good,” and he hugged her again, she hugged him back. Tallalsala wasn’t stupid, if she wanted Spayar’s continued obedience she had to keep his sister safe. Without Calli safe and whole under her thumb she had nothing, and no way to control him. “I’m so sorry Calli,” he said, stroking her hair.

“Why?” she asked, head against his chest.

“The only reason Tallalsala is doing this is to get to me. And for that, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he held her tightly. “I should have never let you come to that party,” he said against her hair. Calli sniffled and squeezed him hard.

“Are you going to fix this?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he promised, “Yes I’ll fix this. Mom and dad will be waiting for you in Gorum.”

“And Anora and Duren?” she asked.

“Yeah, them too,” he said, stroking her hair, staring at the wall. How was he going to fix this? How was he going to save his sister? He didn’t know who to trust, and he was sure that if Calli ever got too far from Tallalsala the death spell would snap closed around her neck. Tallalsala had no powerful wizards or witches he could bribe to undo such a spell and the unweaver he’d normally call upon to help him was two weeks away in DisAdo. He’d have to figure something else out. He just didn’t know what.

“What about you Spayar? Aren’t you going to come with me to Gorum?” Calli asked.

“I will,” he said, rubbing her back, and she sat up away from him, “But I can’t stay.”

“Why?” she asked, “You’d leave us again?”

Spayar frowned, “We’re in the middle of a Feytol War, Calli,” he said, “I’m not someone who can’t pick a side.”

“Sure you can,” she said.

“I’m Vondugard’s _d’aelar_ , I don’t get to chose a side because I am a side. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” she said but looked loathe to admit it. “But what about me? I don’t have a side.”

He frowned, “I’m sorry,” he said and gently held her face in one hand. “You’re my family, you’re on my side, and that isn’t Tallalsala’s.” Calli swallowed, “I’m sorry you have to go through this because of me,” and a few tears started to leak from her eyes. She hastily pushed them away.

There was a stern knocking on the door and Calli looked afraid. “Its the guards,” she said.

“What do they want?” he asked.

“I only… got a certain amount of time with you,” her voice cracked and the tears flowed freely, along with a few, soft, sobs.

Spayar got up from the bed when there was louder knocking. He picked up his bent sword and went to the door, opening it. “What?” he asked. Two guards stood at his door in full armor, Tallalsala was trying to show off. Color him unimpressed.

“Your sister is to come with us,” one said.

Spayar looked over his shoulder at Calli, who looked so small and afraid, trying to stop crying, to be strong. He looked back at the guards, “Sorry, no she isn’t,” he said.

“We’ve been ordered by the Asuras,” they said.

“I don’t give two shits what the Asuras wants. Tell Tallalsala if she wants to take my sister somewhere, she can come get her herself.”

“Sir, don’t make us use force,” the guard said.

“Do you not know who I am?” Spayar asked, they hesitated, “I am Spayar Hillsman, _d'aelar_ of the Asuras, and a smith mage,” Spayar looked at their metal armor and let his anger leech into his, usually carefully controlled, belsong. One of the guards yelped and jumped a little when Spayar made one of his greaves dent by no small margin, suddenly pinching his arm. “No iron men are taking my sister anywhere,” he said.

The guards looked at each other, afraid, and then beat a hasty retreat. Spayar closed the door and went back over to Calli who was staring at him. “Aren’t you a wizard though?” she asked him.

“Both,” he said, “I’m both,” he stroked her hair, “Better wizard though.”

“I wish I was one,” she said.

“I know,” then at least Calli could defend herself. But his sister had always been so kind, so gentle and didn’t like fighting. Their father had tried to get Calli to take some sort of lessons for fighting, even just sword dancing. But she didn’t want to. Duren could already use some of the weapons they made in the forge to a fair degree, at least the smaller versions or wooden templates. Anora had taken a few months of sword dancing classes but his youngest sister was too clumsy for it. At least she tried. But Calli… Calli wasn’t like that. She was weak, and defenseless and it made Spayar so angry that Tallalsala was preying upon her like this, when she had no way to even fight back. She had to just wait, and hope, Spayar fixed this, saved her.

“What’s going to happen, Spayar?” she asked him.

“I’m going to find an unweaver,” he said, “And I’m going to get that spell off you. Until then… we’re going to be strong.” She nodded, “We’re Dirinnans,” he said.

“Not like the flighty feylon,” she said with a slight grin, “We preserver, unmoving as stone.”

“That’s right,” he said as his door was opened. He got to his feet and faced who’d come into his room.

It wasn’t Tallalsala, but it was just as annoying. It was Chevron, captain of the Tallalsala’s personal guard. Before this he’d been a Major in the First Arm who protected their western border along the gut. Spayar knew him only by reputation before yesterday when he’d been personally introduced. Chevron wore his armor, the medallion of his rank pinning a blue cape to his shoulder, and while wasn’t armed, didn’t look like he needed a sword.

“Hillsman,” he said as simple greeting.

“Captain,” Spayar said.

“Put the sword down, lad,” Chevron had a northern accent, from around the White Foot Hills, though himself was not White Foot. “And lets not be terribly difficult. Miss Hillsman, please, come with me.”

Spayar held his hand out to his sister so she wouldn’t move, “I told your men she isn’t going anywhere unless Tallalsala gets her fat ass down here and collects her herself,” he growled.

Chevron was unimpressed with Spayar’s bravado. “Come with me now and I won’t tell the Asuras about it _or_ that you said she has a fat ass.”

“Then come take her,” Spayar said.

“Don’t do this, lad. You’ll just make it more painful.”

“My sister isn’t a playing piece,” Spayar snapped, “you know that as well as I. She’s neutral in the conflict.”

Chevron, unlike Narn would have, looked pained. He knew Spayar was right. Calli wasn’t part of this other than being Spayar’s sister. She was a neutral civilian. “I’m sorry,” he said, “But she has to come with me.”

“No.”

“Yes,” and Spayar felt something tug his sword. “My men told me you smithed them to scare them off,” and Spayar’s sword was yanked right out of his hand, Chevron caught it in his gloved hand by the blade. “But I’m a smith mage too, and a better one than you. Now, Miss Hillsman, please come with me before I hurt your brother,” he said.

“Please don’t,” Calli squeaked and got off his bed.

“Calli-

“It’s okay,” she told him, walking over to Chevron. She swallowed and tried to look strong, “I’ll be okay, Spayar.”

Spayar clenched his teeth, “If anything happens to her Chevron-

“Nothing will,” he said, “Her majesty has placed her protection on your sister. She’ll be fine,” he assured Spayar. “Come along Miss Hillsman,” he said and guided her out of the room. “And the Asuras expects you for breakfast,” Chevron said, as though to add insult to injury. Spayar stood there shaking, knowing Chevron was the least of his problems. He tossed Spayar his sword, and he caught it by the hilt.

Calli gave him one last look before Chevron closed the door leaving Spayar, once again, alone. Unlike the first night, where he’d raged and thrown something, Spayar did nothing. He didn’t move, he barely dared to breathe. Instead he brought the blade of the sword up into his other hand and _twisted_ it. It made an unearthly squealing noise and once it was done he was left even more exhausted than before.

He stood there a moment more before going and dressing himself for breakfast.


	24. Benign

The day after Diylan left Mali had woken with a terrible cough. Sitting up in bed made her nose drain and it infuriated her. She was a healer, a blood healer, one of the best sorts there were. Healers just didn’t _get sick_. Not from mundane illnesses at any rate. She got out of bed and went to the desk in her room and unclipped the ruby anklet and set it on a fresh piece of paper. The incantation came easily.

It was how she’d been monitoring her sickness the few weeks between becoming sick, and now. She couldn’t test the weave or spell around her while she slept, it’d be impossible unless she wanted DiSol or Tassa to sit next to her bed all night and watch her sleep. She’d rather drink sea water straight from the polluted harbor of Peonia before she did that. But the ruby couldn’t be lied to, couldn’t be tricked, and couldn’t be turned off.

It was much the same as most mornings. Whoever was poisoning her and the Shadow Lord, for indeed it was poison, though magical or mundane Mali had yet to divine, did so in small amounts. Every day Mali woke to a mild immune suppression spell. One that had she not had her ruby, she probably never would have noticed until it was too late. She wasn’t dying yet, whatever horrific sickness now claimed LouSai needed a weak host, and while sick, Mali wasn’t sick enough.

The death spell was also reweaved every night.

Mali picked the ruby off the table and ripped the paper up, throwing the remains into a waste bin. Then she dressed.

Winter came early to LoHanJo’in, and the icy winds that came up through Kas’sca and across the Mirrored Hills to the southeast chilled the entire province and marshes. Even in DisAdo where there were many fires and the walls thick and warm during winter there were drafts and the cold leeched everything of real life and color. 

Mali dressed warmly, in simple clothes and her normal clothes, a dark skirt that brushed the ground and a colorless top, both made of Yellow Hills fleece. She wore her healer’s robes over that. They were long at the hands, enveloping them, the hems thicker than the rest of the material, so healers could use them as rags or to help keep their hands clean. The sides of the robe was also longer than the front, and were long and oval, the bottom of the sides as long as Mali’s knees. A muffler was built into the garment, high in the back and was to catch sweat from work and to allow the healer privacy in their spells when the traditional red cloth mask would be rude. Mali still put that on though, a square of red cloth that covered her mouth and nose, each side tied at two places and circled her neck by- at her preference- white ribbon. There was a running knot along the two lines of ribbon she could tighten to keep the mask secured to her face during delicate work.

A healer’s work was secret because while the words of their spells were at time very simple and often shared by other wizards and mages the acts behind them were dramatically different. Non healers who tried to heal themselves or others without training often times did nothing but cause more damage. Thus the exact words of the spells were kept secret, and secure.

Dressed she went out into DiSol’s room. The fire was already going there, dispelling the early morning chill, and DiSol was awake, sitting in front of it. His shroud was a blanket across his knees and the only reason she knew it wasn’t a blanket in truth was because how it shimmered in the fire light. He looked over when he saw her, “Ah, you’re awake. How do you feel?” DiSol was no fool after all.

“I feel fine,” she said, glad that her voice wasn’t rough from sore throat. His mouth became tight. “Really,” she said, going over to him.

“I heard you coughing last night,” he said, his forehead wrinkling.

“So? People cough. I’m a _healer_ DiSol, if I had more than just a cold I’d be the first to know. I’m just not used to this environment.” Which was true at the least. DisAdo was a completely closed ecosystem, with few windows and even fewer doors to the outside world. It was a perfect cooking pot for diseases. Clearly the Shade knew this and were nearly fanatically clean people, even more so than regular feylon who would bathe every other day at least. Shade bathed at least twice a day and clothes weren’t worn more than once before they were washed.

The Shade, unlike Mali, grew up in this clean environment. She had had a cold when she’d arrived, benign, mundane, and she’d let it run it’s brief, three day course before she’d adjusted. Or rather before she’d cured herself, bolstering her own immune system to more quickly fight off the illness so it didn’t last.

DiSol still frowned, “Then some fresh air hopefully did you some good then?”

“Fresh air does everyone good,” she said pointedly, DiSol’s frown deepened. It wasn’t the first time she’d brought it up. LouSai could benefit from some fresh air, away from the sickness of his room, and the Shade who was poisoning him.

“My father is too frail to be moved,” he said firmly.

She sighed a little, “If you insist then I will continue to insist.” DiSol very nearly scowled at her. 

Like most nobles DiSol was used to those beneath him doing what he said the first time. Tough luck. You didn’t become friends with Spayar Hillsman and his prince without learning to stare nobles down a bit. She was no where near as brazen as Spayar who would tell DiSol how it was going to be one way or another and give you a choice when there really was none. Or Diylan who’s first reaction, like most Drake, would be to simply bash a hole in the problem, or LouSai’s bed chamber. Or even Vondugard, though no one told him no, or what to do and he’d do whatever he pleased regardless of what you want because he was a prince.

“Oh my, what’s this. Not trouble in paradise I hope?” Mali looked behind her as Tassa joined her. Tassa was still in her nightclothes, a thin nearly to the point of shear, nightgown with a wide collar. Mali hated her and her perfect body and perky breasts even without a brazier or corset. Her black hair was masterfully disheveled too, and for a moment Mali almost thought she’d actually come straight from bed like that. The subtle makeup and kohl around her eyes told a different story. She wanted them, and probably specifically DiSol to look at her.

Mali gave her an unimpressed look, “Put some clothes on Tassa,” she said coldly.

Tassa’s grin was perfectly pleasant, “Just because you’re cold bunny, doesn’t mean we all are.” Lying bitch. Tassa’s breasts _were_ perky, and obviously so. She glanced at DiSol and saw she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. DiSol looked at Tassa like she was Andonine, goddess of beauty, herself, his black eyes round and wide. He noticed Mali giving him a disapproving look and quickly realized what he was doing. He looked away sharply, rubbing his chin. “Must you do this every time?” she asked Tassa.

“I like to see what men are made of,” Tassa said with a sly grin. DiSol’s eyes strayed again, up to her neck, down to her breasts, and then back up to her face, realizing he’d just failed some test Tassa had put upon him. He looked away and sunk into his chair and it took Mali a moment to realize he was _sulking_.

“Go put on some clothes Tassa. Really, the pleasure you get out of embarrassing men is disturbing,” she said.

“No more embarrassing than how slavish men are,” Tassa said smartly. “But it is _rather_ chill in here,” and she retreated back into her room to dress.

DiSol said nothing to Mali and she sat in a chair next to him. “She… does this often?” he asked after a spell.

“Which part?”

“ _That_?”

“You mean where she walks into a room nearly half naked?” and DiSol made an affirmative noise, though seemingly didn’t trust himself to speak. “That was how we were introduced. She wore less clothing to my final graduation from the Wizen public school in the Swan Box though,” she sighed. Tassa had only been fifteen at the time, two years before she had to go serve her time. Spayar had come, for moral support, and had brought a friend who’d already graduated and was working as an apprentice to some witch in the Smoker’s Den. Tassa has worn a dress that had high hems way before they were in fashion, and a neck line that had plunged nearly to her navel. She’d already had large breasts. Mali still didn’t know how a man like Spayar tolerated a woman like Tassa.

“Why?” DiSol asked.

“Because Tassa doesn’t care and she likes to make people stare. She loves the attention, and then they underestimate her. They think she’s just a nice pair of tits and ass and a warm hole,” DiSol flushed, though in a shameful way. She rose her brows at him. “She’ll fuck you if you want,” she said dismissivly, “Because she is just a warm hole sometimes,” and Tassa liked it that way too. “But don’t expect her to ever respect you if you do.”

“She… is a very cruel woman,” DiSol said.

“Women tend to be DiSol,” she said.

“Perhaps in Assarus, yes,” he agreed.

“Also, keep track of what in your pockets,” Mali added. Mali never had anything on her she couldn’t wrap around her or keep in hand while Tassa was around. She was a member of a thieves guild after all, and her hands were sticky as though they were coated in honey.

“What? Why?”

“Because, my illustrious host,” Tassa said, emerging from her room once more. “I am a master pickpocket.”

“And an embezzler,” Mali sighed.

“I only did that once, and it was because that tax collector was black mailing someone,” she scowled at Mali. She was dressed practically now, but all her clothes were tight, formfitting, and made of some dark material. It made her olive complexion oddly pale in comparison, especially with her eye makeup. Tassa looked… like a Shade actually, dark, flexible, tight, clothing without a hint of skin anywhere. She didn’t wear a cape though, like many Shade did, but rather a black scarf made of what looked like silk.

“You would steal from me?” DiSol demanded, aghast.

“I’d give it back,” Tassa said sweetly and when she smiled she had dimples in both cheeks. “Well, most things,” and Mali rolled her eyes when Tassa sent DiSol a look that made him shift in his seat. But he wasn’t uncomfortable. Most men tended to look like that when a beautiful woman like Tassa gave them bedroom eyes and a flirty smile.

“You’re so completely frustrating,” Mali said irritably.

“One of the many perks of being me,” Tassa said nicely.

Mali scowled at her, “Turn off your libido for a second,” Mali said. Tassa sighed and sat on the arm of Mali’s chair delicately. DiSol’s eyes tracked her. “You’re going to make him impossible, you know that right?” Mali asked her.

“What?” DiSol asked, coming back to himself.

“Don’t make my life difficult Tassa,” Mali said, “You might be the best unweaver I know, but I didn’t call you here to flirt with the locals.”

“But its so _fun_ ,” Tassa said, giving Mali a fox-like smile.

“Find another target,” Mali was fully done with her. She’d get no where if DiSol was totally infatuated with Tassa, like most men were. Well, most men except the one she _wished_ would be infatuated with her. Sometimes Mali thought Tassa did all this just to annoy Spayar. They both knew how much Spayar cared for Tassa, though in a more older brother sort of way, despite Tassa being older. They’d been friends since their first year in the public magical school in South Garden, and Tassa apparently had a nose for trouble. The first time Mali had ever met Tassa she’d flirted with no fewer than two dozen men, all older than her, some with children even, and every time she did she’d always glance at Spayar to see if he cared. Disapproving frown notwithstanding, Spayar didn’t care. Tassa was forever trying to get Spayar’s attention, his attraction, but it was a lost cause when Mali found out Spayar was gay.

Tassa made a face, “I guess, this one’s so _easy_ though.”

“You’re not one to reach for the low hanging fruit though, are you?” and DiSol looked thoroughly confused by their conversation at this point. “Always going for the branch you can’t _quite_ reach,” and Tassa looked like she wanted to slap her. She didn’t though and just breathed deeply through her nose.

“Such a diplomate, aren’t you, _bunny_ ,” Tassa sneered and even when she was ugly Tassa was beautiful.

“Uhm,” DiSol cleared his throat, “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Mali just reminded me why I dislike her,” and Tassa flicked Mali in the forehead, hard, before getting up before Mali could grab Tassa’s thigh.

“And yet Spayar sent you anyway,” DiSol said, confused.

“Of course he sent me. I’m the only one who can keep up with bunny,” Tassa said smugly. DiSol just blinked big black eyes at her. “Oh he hasn’t seen you go yet?” she asked DiSol, who just looked at her blankly. She giggled a little, “This’ll be fun,” she said to Mali.

“Yes, a joy. I still have a death curse on me,” Mali huffed.

Tassa squinted at her and then waved her hand in an arc over her head, “Now you don’t,” she said glibly. “Its a simple curse, easy to dissipate and reweave with a few choice knots.”

“I didn’t _want_ you to take it off me,” Mali snapped.

“It’ll just come back tomorrow, same as the day before when I snapped it.”

“You did _what_? And didn’t tell me!”

“I wanted to see what would happen. This weaver isn’t very good, they aren’t used to this curse, which is why its so simple. Now, if you wanted a _real_ death curse, it’d look more like this,” and Tassa said some words and flicked her hand at Mali. “What do you think DiSol?” she asked him. 

DiSol looked at Mali hard. “… I think you are a very dangerous woman, Tassa,” he said.

“Ah, a man who learns. I love that in men,” Tassa said.

“Tassa,” Mali growled.

“Don’t fret bunny,” Tassa with, “And, it’s gone, good as new,” she said though Mali had no idea what she’d done. She hadn’t wanted to look, or know.

There was a knock on the front door of DiSol’s apartments and when DiSol didn’t tell them to leave, the door was opened. The Shade had a general understanding that if you didn’t tell someone to not do something, they were allowed to do it. Apparently the under-cadet classes for children had about a thousand rules to them too about what the children could and couldn’t do. “My lord,” the other Shade bowed to him, they seemed a bit worn, as though they’d just sprinted here.

“What is it Andark?” DiSol asked, getting up from his chair.

“Uh… sir, the underlords have called a meeting.”

“What?”

“The underlords have called a meeting,” Andark said again.

“Under who’s authority?” DiSol demanded. Andark swallowed and glanced at Mali and Tassa. “I _don’t_ have all day, soldier,” he snapped.

“Right, sorry my lord. The meeting was originally called by underlord Hart,” and DiSol swore. Mali stared at him. She’d never heard DiSol swear like that, even though it was in Jhasta, she still needed to learn some of that.

DiSol rubbed his forehead, “Right,” he said and then cursed again, “When is the meeting?”

“After breakfast, my lord,” Andark said.

“Thank you, leave,” and Andark didn’t linger.

“What’s that about?” Tassa asked.

“The underlords are plotting,” DiSol said. “My father is dying, the heir hasn’t been seen in weeks, and I just a second son,” he frowned. “CoLan might be dead in the marshes for all they know. I’m sorry ladies, I must leave you here, this requires my attention.”

“No trouble at all,” Mali said with a slight smile. “Tassa and I will make do.”

DiSol frowned at them, though it was thoughtful and not upset; DiSol’s thinking face was a frown. “I will have breakfast brought. But I need to leave now, to prepare.”

“Of course, thank you,” Mali said.

DiSol nodded once and then walked out, his shroud swirling around him and turned into semi rigid plate armor as he left. Tassa turned to Mali, “Any ideas what that’s about?”

“Not a clue,” Mali said.

Tassa was quiet a moment, “We aren’t just going to sit here while he’s out, right?”

Mali grinned a little, “Of course not,” Mali said. “I need your help.”

“Oh? With?”

“You’ll like it. I need you to pick the key from an annoying man.”

“Oh Mali, you certainly do know the way to my heart don’t you?” Tassa teased her. Mali just gave her an unamused look. “You just show me the mark, and he won’t even know what hit him.


	25. Trust the Servant

It had been a long time since Spayar had witnessed such utter incompetence in a man of high rank. Narn was an absolute failure of an Archon and everyone, except it seemed Narn and Tallalsala, could see that. Spayar followed Narn around like a shadow, as Tallalsala ordered, to ‘learn’ from him apparently. Except Narn didn’t know what he was doing. The man was a third son, utterly unimportant to his father except for the fact that he was friends with the oldest princess. He’d served his time but like most of his status, his rank was from his father, the Arch baron Kim Alverin, first praetor of the Forth Arm. Narn wasn’t adept at working with people, he was used to people beneath him doing most of the work, running the show. He was a peacock official, with status, but little authority behind it.

On the third day Spayar was mostly sure that Tallalsala had Spayar shadow Narn simply to give his words authority. Especially after how he’d handled the Clan, who were now happier on higher ground, closer to the Elfswood, constructing rough barracks to sleep in since there wasn’t enough for all the Clansmen. And the Ferek of course who had made their place in the stables comfortable. Narn liked to take credit for both things, but anyone with a brain knew it was Spayar. Narn was oblivious to it.

Spayar was standing at Narn’s side like he might as well have been a servant while Narn talked with the leader of Assarus’ smiths guild. He was a huge man with a hard gut and with arms larger around than Spayar’s waist and a trimmed salt and pepper beard. Spayar knew him of course, Finnius Clen, he came and had dinner at his father’s home every other month, as he did with most of his city’s master smiths, to keep good relations. Finnius had lived through three feytol conflicts, and he knew how to handle them without putting the arms makers of Assarus into danger.

“Greetings Lord Archon,” Finnius said, but didn’t bow, merely inclined his head and sat across from Narn. He glanced at Spayar but instead of recognition, he saw confusion in Finnius’ eyes.

“High Master Finnius, such a pleasure,” Narn said, “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why we’re here now.”

“No, you don’t,” Finnius said. “The city of Assarus serves who sits on the seat. You want weapons, tell me.”

Narn’s lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but didn’t, “I need three thousand swords,” he said, “and their accompanying shields. And enough chain armor to outfit them.”

Finnius blinked slowly, soaking that in. “Three _thousand_?”

“Yes, and I need them in as late as six weeks.”

Spayar rubbed his eyes, but otherwise did nothing, what an idiot. “I don’t know where you think we’ll be able to produce so many weapons and armor in such little time, my Lord Archon,” Finnius said. “Chain mail doesn’t just spring into being. It takes at least a week to create a hauberk, and that’s even if the forges have all the supplies required and is a competent armorer, which only a handful of them are. You want three thousand in a week, and swords, and shields, then you better start praying to the gods, because only they can answer your prayers.”

Narn said nothing a second, “I don’t want excuses,” Narn said, “I want results, and for orders to be carried out. Your Asuras has ordered three thousand, you will produce three thousand.”

“Well the Asuras isn’t here. And has never lifted a hammer in her life.”

“But she knows what her men need. I have that many men who need to be armed and armored before the fighting starts.”

“Well then she should have started her commission earlier, because three thousand of anything isn’t made over night. Even the smiths of Gorum would be hard pressed to fill that order on that time table.”

“But could they?” Narn’s eyes gleamed.

“It doesn’t matter. Gorum is and always will be a neutral city, for our men who don’t want to take sides,” he said. “As it is Assarus has already experienced an exodus of craftsman, traders, and merchants, my smiths included.”

“What?” Narn asked.

“They don’t want to be caught in this.”

“That is unacceptable!” Narn cried.

 “To you maybe. They’re thinking of their families-

“To hell with their families. They should serve their Asuras.”

 Finnius turned to Spayar sharply, “You’re the Hillsman boy aren’t you?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir,” he said simply.

“Explain to this man in small words why what he wants is impossible,” he said.

Narn looked at Spayar with narrowed eyes. Narn hated Spayar, though Spayar had yet to actually defy him. But he hated Spayar for what he was, what he represented, and what he could mean for Tallalsala. Spayar could very easily just… replace him, and no one would probably even care. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asked both of them, “That Tallalsala doesn’t understand limitations? Or that people would rather be safe than serve their country in a five way conflict that very well could last months if it isn’t fixed soon?” He shrugged. “To gather the materials alone to produce such a quantity of arms would first take weeks and that’s if one can still anticipate shipments being able to get here from the mines unless you wanted to employ flighters, and that’s even if they side with you and not stick with their house in backing Virilia. You also need leather, lumber, stone and coal, all needs to be brought into the city through the Meltong, and if there are no traders here, there are no resources without the crown personally buying them. That could also take weeks, after you convince the traders they’re getting a fair price. 

“And of course Teldin, Dellin, Virilia and Vondugard are no doubt all doing the exact same thing her majesty is doing right now. So there will be a shortage of all these materials except to those who already have them in their possession. But foundries and forges don’t keep metals around long, they buy them on a need to have basis. All the iron, lumber, skins for leather, and stone, is going to be split five ways to whichever side has the most money. Which right now is us and her majesty Virilia down in Surassa,” he looked at Narn. “Does it make more sense now?” he asked.

Narn looked like he’d just had to swallow a lemon.

“You want three thousand sword, shields and mail you can have them; it’ll take, what? A year Master Finnius?” he asked before he caught himself. He probably shouldn’t have said Finnius’ name. Master Clen was probably more appropriate.

“At least,” Finnius said, “Unless her highness managed to find a few hundred smith mages, then yes, we could do it in six weeks,” he glanced at Spayar again.

Narn noticed, Spayar said nothing. Metal wasn’t a common element, and Spayar didn’t usually share his alignment, better that way. Smithing was up there in faunamancy and bone healers with in demand mages. Spayar had basically squandered his own element though, instead training in wizardry since outside of craftsmanship smithing had few uses. “Well that’s impossible,” Narn said, since there were probably only that many smith mages in the entire Alliance, maybe the entire Sea region.

“Then your request, likewise, is impossible. I can supply you with a few hundred swords and shields in that time, and some dozen mail sets. But in six weeks? My hands are rightly tied, Lord Archon,” Finnius said. “You’ll have to turn cities and get them to work for you to get all that product.”

Narn scowled at Finnius, “You old-

“Thank you Master Clen,” Spayar said, before Narn shot his mouth off. “Her majesty appreciates what you’re able to do. But tell the smiths that those who produce more than their lot will be rewarded when the time comes.”

Finnius looked at Spayar, then at Narn, “Truth?”

Narn clenched his teeth, “Truth.”

“Then I take my leave, Lord Archon,” and Finnius heaved himself out of the chair. He was old but wasn’t bent over and still as strong as any man Spayar knew. He nodded and then left.

Narn was out of his chair as soon as the door was closed and the next thing Spayar knew was pain in the left side of his face and he crashed to the ground. He groaned a little and looked up at Narn. “Do _not_ forget your place boy,” he snarled. “And _do not_ think you can speak for me?”

Spayar made an unimpressed noise, “Maybe if you did your job properly I wouldn’t have to,” Spayar picked himself up and lightly touched his face, which was starting to swell. “ _Adrok_ ,” he mummered, his hand against his cheek. He knew enough healing magic from Mali on how to fix simple things, like scrapes, little cuts, and swollen flesh. Anything more and it hurt, metal wasn’t a good healing element, like most of the inert ones.

“What did you just say to me?” Narn demanded.

“You’re shit at your job,” Spayar said blithely, “And hit me again and I’ll gut you like a dog,” he said, standing and put his hand on the hilt of his sword, the twisted and bent one he’d needed large, round, scarab to hold. “Don’t forget your place yourself _Archon_ ,” and Narn sheathed.

“I can do what I want,” Narn snarled.

Spayar blinked at him and felt a wave of anger rise up his throat. He hated this man. Spayar did not hate lightly, but he hated this man. He took a deep breath, “You have a meeting with Hana MaLark next about the state of the city. Do you want me to stay?” he asked. He could find something better to do than stay here and let Narn make a fool of himself.

“Get out,” Narn said.

“At your leave then,” and he left without a bow or even an acknowledgement. 

Spayar left Narn’s office and headed straight for the castle entrance. It was sunny, and bright out, but fall had finally twisted its fingers into this part of the country and the air was cool and brisk. Spayar was dressed warmly, but not so much so to be hot. He arrived at the palace stable shortly and asked for his horse.

As he waited he felt himself being watched. No doubt of course. The Ferek liked him, respected him. They had a warm, dry, place to live while the rest of the Clan was still drying to get out of the wet. The other tribes were in equal parts jealous of the Ferek and guilty about what they’d done. Had they simply obeyed Spayar the Ferek wouldn’t have gotten special treatment. He looked into the stable but saw no one. That didn’t mean people weren’t watching. He just hoped he could get out of here before Cati showed up. The woman unnerved him with her boldness, wanting him. Spayar wouldn’t sleep with her though, just the thought of it rolled his stomach.

His horse came before he saw any of the Ferek and he mounted up silently with a nod to the stable hand. He clicked his tongue at his horse and set her on a course. He wasn’t going far. Just down to Fey’s Shadow.

The streets of Fey’s Shadow were wide and well paved, walls and fences lined the streets. The wealthy and noble families lived here, in a little loop of the river that was nearly an island itself. There was always talk about digging out that part of Fey’s Shadow so it would be an island, the river Meltong flowing around it, but doing so would cut through the property of the Duchess Sawan North of Harinfall. The Duchess was the head one of the most powerful houses in the north, mountains moved and things changed because she willed it and she forbade digging on her land. No one even bothered to try and sway her either.

It was, ironically, exactly where Spayar was going. The walls of the North estate were tall and thick, the walls topped with gnarled spines and spikes so that no one could stand or sit on them, not even the birds. Few people got to see the North estate without an invitation. But Spayar always was one of those exceptions.

The door in was made of solid wood with metal straps and beams imbedded in it. Much like the walls, the door wasn’t meant to look pretty. The North family lived close to the Federation, at the top of the Spine where only a few mountains stood between them and raiding feds. Walls were for protection, not decoration like many other houses. Four guards manned the door and stopped Spayar when he got to it.

“Who goes?” one asked.

“Spayar Hillsman, _d'aelar_ of the one true Asuras,” he said, “Open the gate,” he said.

The guards looked between each other, “We’ve been ordered to not let anyone in, my lord,” one said.

Spayar rose his brows at them, “Then I guess I’ll just have to tell Tallalsala that the meeting did not go as planned. How _unfortunate_ ,” and he watched the guards swallow. He hated tricking common folk, making them afraid of the wrath of the rich and nobility. He knew the feeling extremely well. But sometimes there was just nothing for it. He would not be denied here. He would get into the North estate now, before the spy who was following figured out how to follow him in.

“Very well,” clearly the leader said, afraid of the consequences of both opening and not opening the gate would bring upon them. “Open the gate,” he called and from behind the wall something heavy clicked into place. There was a slight groan and then the gate started to swing open slowly. Once it was open enough Spayar nudged his mare and they went through. The gate closed behind him and Spayar looked back just in time to see the furious look on his tail’s face down the street where they were pretending to be a messenger.

There was a long drive up to the mansion that was lined in palm trees and dwarf sea grape the North family had imported from the northern Shard. The North family had once been a noble family of the Balentine nation some few hundred years ago, and held court along the coast. The country of Balentine hadn’t been a particularly wealthy country as most of it was dry, infertile, steppe and desert. Balentine had been a buffer between the Alliance and the Federation. But the forty-sixth Asuras had destroyed Balentine, raised the entire country to the ground, and salted the usable ground to the point that even now barely anything grew. The people of Balentine had been given an ultimatum, join the Alliance, or die. The North family had joined the Alliance, along with swaths of nobles and commoners who had taken their own part in destroying their own country. 

Supposedly The Asuras had destroyed Balentine so mercilessly because a prophet from Coolth had come through on a pilgrimage and told him that if Balentine continued to exist his throne would be put in danger. And as was the Le’Acard way, he’d instantly crushed the opposition to his crown. The Balentine Graveyard now served as a tenuous border between the Alliance and Federation, though to try and invade through the destroyed country would mean marching an army nearly a week through a steppe without any way to replenish their stores of food. It had caused a sort of armrest with the two great countries and had basically strangled the expansion of the Alliance at that bottleneck. Historians and tacticians still debated if the sacking of Balentine had been a good move.

The Norths had done nothing but benefit from their conversion to the Alliance and had been given their test in the Book that they’d passed and given a duchy near the Spine. Since their induction they’d never swayed from the Alliance, or even looked at their former home. They still proudly bore their mark of the sea though, a red sail fish wearing a broken crown. Most northern houses deferred to the Norths in all manner of things and they were nearly kings in their own rights, though were always the first to bend at knee to the Le’Acard. They didn’t want what had happened to Balentine happen to them.

Their manse was massive and the painted a stark, clear, white, the lines of the building clean and crisp with a lean-to shaped roof. Great windows dominated almost all parts of the mansion, in the style of their province. The grounds around were tastefully decorated with tropical plants that clearly were cared for by a plant mage, or they never would have grown here in the capital. Meaning the Norths _had_ the money to spend on plant mages, who were always expensive and in high demand. He didn’t doubt that the groundskeeper lived within the walls too. They probably made more money in a month than Spayar’s father in six.

A holster came up and took his horse when he arrived at the front doors of the mansion, which were pale wood carved with sea creatures. He was reminded of the Rosalia and had to remind himself that Nadalia was in the same region as Balentine had been, so of course their motifs would be similar. His horse was taken away and he pulled a rope by the side of the door to ring a bell. The door was opened by a sliver before opened fully.

“Who are you?” the butler asked, disdain clear in his tone, “Who let you in?”

“ _D’aelar_ Spayar Hillsman,” Spayar said, “I’ve come to see Abirid.”

The butler narrowed his eyes at Spayar, “The duchess doesn’t want visitors in here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” and he made to shut the door.

“Tell Abirid I’m here,” was all Spayar said and then the door was closed. Spayar stepped away from the door and walked into the circular drive that led back to the gate. Wind rustled the palm trees overhead as Spayar waited. He waited for nearly ten minutes before the door behind him opened. Spayar turned back around.

Abirid had a fresh cut on his face that had cut him across the cheek ear to nose. It was healed by now, but it was still a bit enflamed. Healers might be magical, but everyone reacted to magic a bit differently, and nothing could stop some some puffiness from simple magic use. “Hello, Abirid,” he said.

“What do you want?” Abirid growled.

Spayar walked back over to him, “I’m sorry about your face,” he said. Abirid glared at him, “Though if its any consolation, I think you look better like this.” Abirid seemed disarmed by that. That Spayar would willingly compliment him was a tell.

Abirid looked him up and down, “Where’s Vondugard?”

“I don’t know,” Spayar said. “Tallalsala hopes he’s dead.”

“So you work for Tallalsala now? What a cheat,” Abirid sneered.

Spayar’s mouth went thin, “You asked me what was the right side, Abirid,” he said. “Has your mother chosen one yet?”

“The Norths are neutral in this conflict,” Abirid said stonily.

Spayar steeled himself, “I need your help,” he said.

Abirid seemed taken aback, “Come again? The _great_ _d'aelar_ Spayar needs _my_ help?”

Spayar rolled his eyes, “Yes. And I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You will now?” and Spayar didn’t miss Abirid quickly glance at him up and down.

“Yes,” Spayar said, putting his hand on his belt, drawing Abirid’s eyes down briefly. Spayar should be worse at this than he was. “What do you say?”

Abirid looked thoughtful, “All right,” and he opened the door for Spayar.

“Who else is home?” Spayar asked him.

“My eldest sister, and one of my brothers,” Abirid said. “Does Tallalsala know you’re here?”

“Yes, but not why. Lets keep it like that, shall we?” he asked.

“Very well,” and Abirid motioned for Spayar to follow him. Spayar followed Abirid into the mansion and he heard some sort of string instrument being played. “My sister plays,” Abirid said dismissivly.

“She’s rather good,” Spayar said, Abirid just shrugged. “Where’s your brother?”

“Out. I don’t know or ask where,” Abirid clearly didn’t care either. The thing was, when you were a North, you could do anything you wanted. 

Abirid took him to the second floor, where the sound of music receded and he was shown onto a back balcony. It overlooked the back of the grounds and an expansive garden, which like the front were well tended and tropical. He saw a man tending a yellow hibiscus with flowers nearly as large as Spayar’s hand down below. Clearly the plant mage and groundskeeper. There was a table and three chairs on the balcony, Abirid sat in one, Spayar took the other.

“What do you want, Spayar?” Abirid asked.

“Many things,” Spayar sighed and when Abirid opened his mouth Spayar added, “From you? One a few.”

“What is it then?”

“I need an unweaver.”

“An unweaver? For what? Not to mention it’ll basically be impossible, nearly all the wizards fled Assarus when Tallalsala started the feytol conflict.”

“I know, but what good are the North for if not the impossible? I mean, you have _orange trees_ in here.” Spayar was honestly amazed. The Drake kept their orange monopoly jealously, since it was one of the few ways the house made money since their province was lower in towns they could tax. Anyone who grew or sold oranges without the Wyrm Lord’s permission was punished heavily. As they were sacred fruit only those chosen by Perunaz were supposed to be allowed to grow them. And yet there were at least five orange trees in the garden below.

“Oranges are not wizards,” Abirid said. “What do you need an unweaver for? What happened? Where’s Vondugard? Of all people I never expected _you_ to be a traitor to him.”

Spayar repressed a growl. “I am not. Tallalsala is a bitch and blackmailing me into service,” he said sharply. “She has my sister.”

“Your sister?” Abirid seemed more than momentarily confused, forgetful that Spayar even had a sister. It took him more than a few seconds to remember. “Oh! Your sweet sister who’d never smoked before?” he asked.

“The very same. She is using Calli to force my obedience.”

“That’s stupid,” Abirid said. “What’s she expect? You to become her _d’aelar_?” Spayar just rose his brows. “Wait she _actually_ thinks that? Wow,” Abirid said.

“Exactly. She has my sister captive as one of her ladies in waiting, with a death curse about her.”

Abirid scowled, “I like your sister,” he said, “That’s horribly rude.”

“It is. Which is why I need an unweaver.”

“Don’t you have a friend who’s an unweaver?”

“I do. But she’s currently in LoHanJo’in helping to stop the Shade from rebelling next spring,” he said plainly. “Can you get me an unweaver?”

“I don’t know-

“Abirid,” Spayar said, “I can’t do anything with my sister as she is. The reason I’m coming to you is because I know you know that where I am, things happen. I _need_ an unweaver or I will be forced to serve Tallalsala. And you don’t want to see me serve Tallalsala anymore than I want to serve her myself.”

Abirid’s mouth was tight and thin. “My mother isn’t fond of her either,” he admitted. “Especially now that she’s aligned herself with the Clan. Why not just coerce one of her unweavers into it?”

“She has none,” Spayar said. “You know how normal wizards hate witch doctors. She has no one skilled enough, she doesn’t even have an archmage.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. Now, can you help me? I’m willing to do a lot of things to see my sister free, and safe,” he said pointedly.

Abirid said nothing for a moment, “I was being serious, at the party,” he said. “Tallalsala also doesn’t know how to dress you at all. Green isn’t your color,” and Spayar chuckled. Tallalsala had ordered him to wear clothes fitting of her reign and that meant no black, as she hated black. No more black for Spayar, now it was colors, and he hated it. It made him stand out, as anything less than dark colors stood out harshly against his skin.

“It really isn’t,” he agreed. “You’ll help me?”

“Yes. I’ll contact my mother. She has a weaver back in Harinfall.”

“Will she send them?”

“I don’t see why not? Is this the right side, Spayar?”

“Any side I’m on is the right side,” Spayar said.

“My mother thinks that too,” he said. “My great great grandfather sided with Asuras Devoku when he said he was going to burn Balentine. His _d'aelar_ came to our home and told him that if they sided with him and his master, we would be everything we could ever dream of an more. He was right. If the Le’Acard allowed for the marrying in of other houses we’d be the next closest to the throne.”

“Your grandfather was a smart man,” Spayar said.

“Its why our motto is ‘trust the servant’,” Spayar smiled a little. “I will get you your unweaver. My mother will no doubt side with you when Vondugard shows himself again. We’ll expect to be repaid.”

“I handle of of Vondugard’s debts. You can rest be rest assured, I will take care of it.”

“From your mouth its a better promise than from the Asuras themself,” Abirid grinned. “But, I want something too, to contact my mother.”

“And what is that?” Spayar asked, leaning forward, already knowing. He traced his finger across the top of Abirid’s hand and got the satisfaction of Abirid’s arm breaking into goose flesh.

“I think you can guess,” Abirid said and pulled his hand back before standing and going back inside. Spayar got up after him and followed after, back into Abirid’s bedroom.

A part of him was reminded he wasn’t _just_ doing this for Calli when Abirid shed his shirt, facing away from him, and throwing it off to the side for a servant to collect. Abirid had served his time, or part of his time, and like most soldiers was fit and lean. Spayar wouldn’t deny he thought Abirid was attractive and that he wouldn’t mind what he was about to do.

Abirid looked over his shoulder at Spayar, “Going to just stand there? And maybe afterwards we can find you something that isn’t so… _green_ ,” he said distastefully.

“Going to send me home in your clothes Abirid?” Spayar asked as he unbuckled his belt and put his sword aside.

“I don’t see why not. They’d look good on you. And I’m sure Tallalsala would _love_ to see you return to the palace looking like a Northman,” he smirked.

Spayar laughed a little, “What a horrible game we’ll play on her then,” Spayar said taking off his jacket and his shirt. “Maybe she’ll think I fucked you to get you to side with her.”

“Women do think strange things,” Abirid said and Spayar walked over to him, so they stood face to face.

Spayar reached up to the side of Abirid’s face, where the freshly healed scar was, “I do like it,” he said. “Makes you not look like such a momma’s boy,” he smirked.

Abirid huffed irritably, “Such a fine giver of compliments,” he said.

“You’d be disappointed if I was any less,” Spayar said.

“Oh, I _highly_ doubt I’ll be disappointed in you,” Abirid said.

“No, you won’t be,” Spayar said before pressing his mouth firmly to Abirid’s. He’d had a lot worse deals in his life than this one. Having sex with a cute little lordling? He could handle that. Get out some of this strain from being Tallalsala’s little lap dog. He’d be nice though. Be nice Spayar, he reminded himself. Be nice to the North boy. It was really too bad Spayar wasn’t a very nice man.

—

The light was more orange when Spayar was getting dressed again. He could see the sun over the Elfswood in the distance, slowly heading for the horizon. Abirid was laying in a mess of sheets on his big bed, dozing still. Spayar had spent most of the afternoon here, and not just bedding the young noble, though that _had_ taken up quite a bit of his attention. Spayar needed to get going though, knowing his absence had no doubt been noted by Narn and Tallalsala.

Abirid rolled over in bed and Spayar glanced at him but was busy putting on his under clothes, which he’d made sure to fold up before anything had happened. Abirid groped at the bed beside him before making an annoyed noise, and waking up. He looked over at Spayar, who had taken a bath and was dressing. “Tallalsala can go to hell,” he said.

Spayar chuckled, “I need to leave before she thinks I’ve deserted,” he said.

Abirid pushed himself up on one arm and rubbed his eyes. “Like I said, she can go to hell. And don’t you dare put on that ugly shirt,” he added.

“Oh? Are you commanding me now, my lord?”

Abirid narrowed his eyes at Spayar, squinting at him. “I bet Vondugard hates it when you do that,” he said.

“Loathes it,” Spayar smirked.

“You know how to make anything sound like an insult,” Abirid said and got out of bed with a groan.

“One of my many talents along with giving you a slight limp,” Spayar said wickedly as Abirid tested his weight on his legs and seemed to favor the right one.

“And _so_ humble too,” Abirid huffed and walked over to his closet, stark naked. Spayar’s eyes drifted across his body, admiring it, not for the first time today either. Abirid was tall and lean and bronze and his black hair was always a mess, more so now at that. He was so unlike Von too. Spayar knew he had a type, but apparently had more than one type at that. Von’s type was a familiar and Abirid’s was exotic in comparison. Abirid was also grown and had none of the round edges of boyhood Von still had but was losing fast. Thinking of that made Spayar’s chest ache. He missed Von and knew that next time they met they’d be different, changed, and Von would be a boy no more. War changed people, and Spayar just hoped that Von made it through the other side.

“I’m not humble about the truth,” Spayar said smugly, “You have a limp.”

Abirid gave him a nearly reproachful look, “Watch your mouth, before I kick you out half naked,” he said.

“Wouldn’t be as bad as my alchemic hazing,” Spayar said. “And I still have my awful green thing-

“No!” Abirid snapped and walked into his big closet. Spayar chuckled and went to the door.

Abirid’s closet was a rainbow of colors, but he walked right past them to his gray area. “Will these even fit me?”

Abirid eyed him critically, “They should,” he said, “You are about my size.” He selected some black shirt with red piping, the sleeves short and barely there. He tossed it and a wrought iron gray sleeved shirt at Spayar, “That’s the undershirt,” he said. Spayar tugged off his long sleeved light one and yanked on the dark one and then the sleeveless one over top that.

He’d just barely put that on when another piece was thrown at him, a long vest that went to his knees that was split into four tails like flower petals, also black, with subtle gold thread work. He put it on over the sleeveless thing. The pants were simple in comparison, and made of dark linen that was more common and popular in the north than wool or cotton. Abirid spent a good five minutes looking through his clothes after that, now and then casting a glance at Spayar who just stood waiting to be told if he could leave yet. Abirid was always well dressed and didn’t try to force it like Tallalsala did at times. Spayar felt more comfortable in his darks than Tallalsala’s colors. He let Abirid look in peace.

Finally Abirid selected a dark, long sleeves, half coat that ended just below the ribs. It was such a deep blue it should have been black, and had some gold stitching at the hems in Northern motifs. “Are we done yet?” Spayar asked, tugging on the bottom of the half coat it felt odd to him, and too short, but he’d make do.

Abirid looked him up and down, “You don’t look like a travesty, so yes,” he said. “You look _fine_ in Northern clothes.”

“May I leave then, my lord?” he asked in a way that made Abirid scowl at him in frustration.

“Yes.”

“You going to see me out? Or should I just know where the door is?” Abirid scowled at him more and Spayar grinned, he’d been teasing and it took Abirid a moment to realize that. That made Abirid scowl at him for a different reason. Chuckling Spayar went and put on his boots.

A hat was dropped on his head as he pulled on his second boot and felt Abirid lean against him. His body was warm and he was still bare chested, his arms looped around to Spayar’s chest. “Yes?” he asked.

Abirid leaned down to his ear, “We should do that again,” he said.

“I am a frightfully busy man, Abirid. The only reason I came at all was because Narn told me to fuck off.”

“Heh. I’m sure he’ll be more careful with his wording next time then,” he said, “No need to give you an excuse to go make friends with other powerful nobles without their knowledge,” Abirid nuzzled the side of his face and behind his ear.

“Indeed,” Spayar said, feigning unaffectedness. “Though Narn is terribly stupid and petty. He’ll do it twice more before Tallalsala’s anger outweighs his dislike of me,” he said.

“He’s just jealous he isn’t you,” Abirid said hands running down Spayar’s chest.

Spayar blinked as he had a startling realization. “I need to leave,” he said, standing, and making Abirid sigh. He was wearing pants at least and walked down to the front door with Spayar. “When can I expect them?” he asked Abirid at the door while he waited for his horse. It was chilly and Abirid had his arms crossed across his chest.

“Two weeks,” he said, “At least. I need to send a message to Senna,” the closest city to Assarus with a Drake manned post office, “And from there expedite it to my mother. The weaver will have to take the long way here though since the Drake are probably going to align themselves with Virilia once the dust settles and the major houses declare themselves or their neutrality.”

“And make sure your mother is ready to declare her loyalty to Vondugard when the time comes.”

Abirid’s mouth was thin, “The Norths do not align with anyone until the time is right. We trust the servant, but first the servant must be in a position to be trusted,” he said. Spayar made a face. Of course. Sawan wouldn’t move an inch until Spayar was not only with Von, but showed that he would win, or at least could win. The Norths did not want to suffer as they had in Balentine so had to carefully pick their side, and they _had_ to pick the winning side. There was no in between for them. It was win, or be humiliated at best or have their power stricken down at worst.

“Of course,” Spayar said. “Keep me informed. Send a messenger asking for me if you wish to see me, or come to the palace if you have a need,” and Abirid glanced at him up and down. “An _actual_ need,” he sighed. “I am usually too busy to otherwise play with you.”

Abirid chuckled, “All right,” he glanced over Spayar’s shoulder, his horse was ready. “Goodbye _d’aelar_ ,” he said and leaned over, giving Spayar a kiss goodbye, his lips warm like a piece of summer in the cool evening. “Say hello to your sister for me,” and Spayar knew Abirid wasn’t doing it to be cruel, he didn’t know any better.

“I will,” and he turned from the noble and climbed onto his horse before having to fuss with the long vest so he didn’t have to sit on it awkwardly. Abirid laughed at him. “Shut up, this is impractical,” he snapped.

“Have a safe journey,” was all Abirid said and closed the door. Spayar huffed and turned his mare towards the gate.

The ride was brief from the North estate back to the palace. He left his horse at the stables before entering the palace. A servant approached him almost as soon as he set foot inside. “Her majesty wishes to speak with you,” they said, “She’s at her quarters.”

“Of course,” Spayar said and changed directions, heading for the tower at the center of the palace. 

There were guards at the door like there weren’t usually, since no one dared go after the Le’Acard, to do so was suicide. But since the start of the conflict security was up, any of Tallalsala’s siblings would love to send someone to kill her. It had only been a few days though, no assassination attempts quite yet. No one short of a lonth would even have a chance of course, but they’d try anyway. With the turmoil going on in LoHanJo’in right now it would be impossible to contact the Shade or attempt to take a contract out on one of the Le’Acard. That tended to happen when a house was trying to fend off its own schism.

The guards let him in and he climbed the stairs. The tower was divided into slices and each member of the Le’Acard got a slice of the tower. Once it had been the higher in the tower you were the more important, but over the centuries, as attacks became less frequent, as did the conquering, it became a worn out tradition and silly that the Asuras should have to climb all the way to the top of the tower every night just to sleep. So now the Asuras lived on the first floor and every child they had had the floor above them in order of their birth. As the fifth born Von had had the fifth level all to himself and you quickly got used to walking up five flights to see your friend.

Tallalsala had yet to move into her mother’s rooms though, for reasons unknown to Spayar. Instead she still slept on the third floor, above Teldin’s old apartments. The tower itself was at least a hundred feet across and octagon in shape, so that there were no curved walls to make it difficult to decorate and the central staircase wound up through the middle of the tower in a tight spiral, unlike along the wall like a more conventional tower.

Spayar knocked on Tallalsala’s door and waited. Spayar’s jaw became tight when Calli answered the door, still in the horrible makeup and clothes that made him see red. She looked ashamed when he saw her and he took a deep breath to calm himself. “My lady,” Calli called, opening the door wider, “Spayar is here,” and Spayar walked in. Calli wasn’t Tallalsala’s only lady in waiting of course, and they all wore the same makeup, though only on Calli was it so thick, so horribly demeaning.

“Ah, Hillsman,” Tallalsala was sitting on a couch while one of her ladies painted her nails. “Leave us,” she waved her hand at them and they all got up and left, even Calli, who was bustled out quickly.

“Greetings, your majesty,” he bowed.

“Where were you all day? I told you to stay with Narn,” she said, waving her hand to help the polish dry.

“And Narn dismissed me,” Spayar said.

“ _Where_ were you? And what are those clothes? I thought I told you not to wear black,” her frown was disapproving.

“I like black,” Spayar said. “And they are Northmen’s clothes,” he said. 

Tallalsala stopped waving her hand and looked Spayar dead in the eye, “Northmen’s?” she asked. “What are you doing in Northmen’s clothes?”

“I paid a visit to the Norths,” he said simply.

Her eye twitched. “For what purpose?”

Spayar thought about saying several things, none of which Tallalsala would like. Instead he swallowed them all and said the lie he and Abirid had come up with while under the sheets. “Abirid North likes me,” he said, “He’s Duchess Sawan North’s second oldest son. I thought to go and see if he was amicable to you, your majesty,” he said.

“That doesn’t explain why you return to me dressed like a _Northman_ and not one of my own men.”

“He didn’t like my clothes, he sort of shallow like that,” Spayar said, which wasn’t untrue.

“And just what did you and Abirid discuss while you were there?” she asked, cocking her head to the side a bit, like a curious dog.

“We didn’t do much… talking,” Spayar smirked, “I’m afraid I had other uses for Abirid’s mouth than politics,” and he was pleased to see Tallalsala flush a little. He wasn’t going to spare her the things he did, though he wouldn’t go into detail. A servant must do as he must after all.

“You walk a fine line of decency,” Tallalsala said in a tight, low, tone.

“Perhaps I should have said it differently then?” Spayar asked. “But then I was never taught to be anything but absurdly frank with my _donalim.” Donalim_ was the other side of _d’aelar_ , its exact meaning was lost and even more rarely used than even _d'aelar_ was. Definitions of _donalim_ ranged from ‘master’ to ‘friend’ to even in some small circles of scholars ‘husband’. All anyone knew was that Sinou was called that by Masalla nearly exclusively after he’d taken the first country of Adrin and had started to build Surassa at the break, when he’d been made Asuras. Most people surmised _donalim_ to mean something more like ‘my lord’, though no one could really agree.

Tallalsala took a moment to absorb that, and then Spayar _swore_ he saw her head grow three times its size. “Is that so, my _d’aelar?”_ she asked. It was amazing what you could make nobles think with a few pretty words to inflate their egos.

“I do as I do, because I know what I’m doing. Which is more than I can say for some.”

Her eyes went sharp in an instant, “And who would that be?” she asked.

He needed to be delicate here. Narn had not been made Archon for no insignificant reason. The two were friends. How deep their friendship went Spayar had yet to divine, but deep enough so that Tallalsala had made Narn Archon, despite his incompetency. “I think we both know,” he said simply.

“What did you discuss with Abirid North?” she deflected but Spayar knew she knew too. So Tallalsala _did_ know that Narn was incompetent. He wondered if she knew how much he hated how bad Narn was at his duties? Narn was the line of his soldiers to the Asuras, and if you had a poor one, nothing got done. Or it happened slowly. Maybe she was doing it as some form of punishment, but Spayar didn’t know if it was a punishment for him, or for Narn.

“Alliances,” he said, “While your Archon was… busy,” with what he didn’t say, just let it stand, “I went to do something more useful to you. Anyone who knows me says I have a silver tongue when it comes to making important people do as I ask.”

“And do you?” she asked.

“No,” Spayar said. “I just know how to give people what they want while taking what I need.” Tallalsala didn’t see the stab at her for that, idiot. She was probably still floating on him calling her his _donalim_. “Abirid is a self centered, full of himself, near megalomaniacal, jerk,” he was laying it on rather thick, but he was everything Spayar had just said, though not nearly deserving of such words. Tallalsala was more deserving. That didn’t mean Abirid wasn’t self centered or narcissistic. “He’s a North, and gets whatever he wants. So I gave him something he couldn’t buy.”

“You then?”

“For a time,” Spayar shrugged. “I don’t sleep with people who are useless to me. I fucked him and he promised he’d talk with his mother about who she would side with during this conflict.”

Tallalsala looked impressed and tapped her now dry nails on the arm of her chair. “I must say, Spayar, I am rather impressed. My advisors told me the Norths were a bad wager, they like to be neutral to the end.”

“You don’t have time for neutrality from a family like the North,” Spayar said. “You have few wizards, you have no archmage. Your entire magical backbone are the Clan witch doctors other than a few mages who can swallow their pride to work with them. And they aren’t very powerful. You’re probably our most powerful magi, and you’re-“ he cut himself off before he could step on his own tongue. Densinn control this wild tongue of his. He’d almost called Tallalsala a half rate Le’Acard. Which was fair, most Le’Acard had been for the past few generations. Le’Acard were special in that they were able to, consistently, both summon and use magic. Outside of their family it happened only in freak happenings over the centuries and even before that, people who had special, godly, favor, to wield both types. Von’s fifth great grandfather had been the last Asuras who could summon.

“I’m?” she prompted him, expecting praise.

He gave it to her like he’d his mother gave beggars crusts from her kitchen. “You’re probably the only one who can control the Clan. They respect the power and Asuras has, and are afraid of it. But you aren’t enough. If you had the backing of the Norths they could buy swaths of magi to help with the fights that are impending.”

“I have money-

“Your majesty,” Spayar interrupted. “The palace vaults are still sealed, you have yet to find your mother’s banker and her spymaster has fled. The army you brought is for now, paid only with promises. You may be Asuras, but you are a pauper-

She struck him. A harsh slap to the face on the same side that Narn had punched him earlier and Abirid had been so worried over when they’d been in bed. It stung horribly and the weave he’d constructed to keep the swelling down shattered. “Watch your tongue _d’aelar_ ,” she said, hand still raised to strike him again if he spoke back again.

He trembled with rage, his jaw tight, but he didn’t act. Instead, he hit her where it hurt, “Should I tell Abirid to not speak with his mother than? If you have so much coin surely you don’t need her.” He felt an intense pleasure in watching Tallalsala physically shrink from the words. He didn’t have to touch her to hurt her and other than Calli everything he loved was out of her reach in Gorum or the gods knew where.

“No,” she said. “But you-

“ _You_ ,” Spayar spoke over her, like he did when he’d had to handle Obi, “will not strike me again,” he said. “You need me. Narn is an embarrassment, your army is an embarrassment. You aligned yourself with _the Clan_. While you’re pretending to be Asuras your siblings and mother are mustering their forces and your brothers are clearly _far_ better than you since even with your half baked coup you failed to kill any of them other than your slow little sister.”

“You cannot speak to me like this!” Tallalsala snarled and went to slap him again. 

He grabbed her wrist hard. “Listen well Tallalsala. I am a _d’aelar_ , and no one may lay a hand on me, not the enemy, not my _donalim,_ not _anyone_ , without my permission. If you’re so desperate that you’d threaten to kill my sister you must face the consequences of what it means to have someone like me on your side.” He couldn’t believe what he was saying, the words seemed to be coming unbidden to his tongue, leaping from his mouth nearly without his consent. “I am _d’aelar_ , the zealous servant, and I do not have a leash, because to do so is to hinder yourself. Do you want to pretend to be Asuras, or do you want to win this conflict?”

Tallalsala stared at him, but found her voice. “I want to win,” she said breathlessly, “I don’t want to die,” and she swallowed.

No, none of the Le’Acard wanted to die. That was what they all had in common, they didn’t want to die. But to not plan to kill meant that someone else, one of their own siblings, would murder them instead. It was a cruel, if necessary evil, so that Alliance didn’t rip itself apart.

“Then listen to my council,” Spayar said harshly. “I have been guiding your brother for years. He’s probably dead now though, so where does that leave me? In need of someone else so I don’t have to die and be dragged through the streets until my body flies apart.  But let me do my job, I know it much better than your incompetent Archon. And don’t you or him _ever_ strike me again. Or I will show you just what my zealousy means.”

He released her wrist sharply. “Now,” he said, “do you have any other need of me? Or can I go unfuck whatever Narn has fucked up while I was away getting you the Norths?” the lies were so easy, so frightening as well. But he didn’t blink, didn’t let her call his bluff. He hated her, almost more than anything, for what she’d done. How her sloppy coup had scattered her family to the corners of the Alliance meaning they were far from easy targets and could muster their forces, lick their wounds, get prepared. A few days wasn’t enough to do any real harm, but it would take weeks for Tallalsala to pull something together after her failure. Long enough for her siblings’ allies to get things rolling and them to get in control. What a stupid, near sighted, ploy for power. One that had failed spectacularly. Stupid woman, stupid princess.

Tallalsala swallowed, she hadn’t expected him to be like this. She wanted a servant, someone who would obey. But the thing about _d'aelar_ was this: they rarely obeyed. They were given a task, and then did it, by any means. He told her as such. “Fix it,” she said.

“Give me the authority I need. I can’t do _anything_ if I have to try and play nice with Narn. He’s jealous of my abilities, my title, and I find him a blundering fool.”

“You have it,” she said and settled back down onto the couch, trying to look like she was in control. She was only a few years older than him. So beautiful, so stupid, just like Obi, but stupid in other ways.

“Tell Narn to stay out of my way, I won’t be so kind to him next time.” She said nothing, “At your leave, _donalim_ ,” he said, nodded and then walked out.

When he closed the door between himself and Tallalsala he stopped and felt himself deflate, felt all his bravado leave his body and suddenly he was himself again. He didn’t know he was capable of that. He didn’t _talk_ to people like that. He didn’t talk to Von like that, he didn’t even talk to people he hated like that. Instead he usually let them seep in the misery of their own making as he made them rethink crossing him. But not this time. This time he’d been brazen and had spoken with such authority Tallalsala had balked, retreated, and given him whatever he’d wanted.

He looked down at his hands and saw they were shaking that _he_ was shaking. The adrenaline was running out, he was coming down from the high that was addictive as any smoke. He squeezed his eyes shut. He had to focus, he had to prepare and he needed to twist Narn’s mess ups to his benefits. He should have told Tallalsala to stop having him followed. But couldn’t he just command that? He could, but he had no idea who her spymaster was. He needed to find out, learn if he was capable, or if he was an idiot. He needed to learn about Tallalsala’s advisors, get a list of her allies, find out what she planned to do to feed her army when it arrived-

He made himself stop. He had so much to do and seemingly no time. Except he did have time. Tallalsala’s coup had scattered her siblings, her mother was headed for Surassa. It would be weeks, perhaps even months before a counter strike from any of the other Le’Acard. He had time. Time to what? Time to save his sister. Time to make sure the Norths were with him. Time to build up Tallalsala’s forces only for them to crumble around her. Time to plan. Time to contact someone, X’vazior, or Helida, someone who would be mustering Von’s side until he showed himself. Time to _find_ Von.

He had to focus on one thing at a time though. He couldn’t do so many things at once. He’d just rid himself of Narn though. Now he had to go speak with at least Master Finnius.

Spayar shook himself, mentally and physically. He could do this. He _could_ do this. His prince was counting on him, his country was counting on him, but more importantly, his _sister_ was counting on him. If he wasn’t the most deadly viper in this snake pit it was all for naught. He’d shown his hood to Tallalsala, that he was not to be pissed on or pissed off, that he was a dangerous player in this. Maybe he should have had more tact and held it back, but he honestly couldn’t have held back the words if he’d wanted.

Gave a good show.

Spayar felt a hunk of ice drop into his gut and he felt paralyzed. His mind suddenly brought forth memories of dreams of a man without hands and with a mouth sewn shut, his eyes wild but not insane, merely reckless. Densinn. 

He’d wanted a golden tongue. Watch me Densinn, don’t let me fail. It was always a gamble when you prayed to Densinn, either he didn’t look, or he looked nowhere else. The trickster had chosen Spayar, why he had no idea, but he had. Now his words made to Tallalsala made sense. Densinn had been letting him say what he felt, what needed to be said, instead of beating around the bush.

“Damnit,” he said and crossed himself first in the Feylon way, and then the Dirinnan way. “You’re going to ruin me, and then where will you be?” he whispered. There was no answer. Not this time.

Spayar unstuck himself from in front of Tallalsala’s door and walked down to the courtyard, and looked up. The sky was dark but he turned his eyes to one of the towers that held a large clock and saw it wasn’t too late. He went quickly towards the stables. For some reason his horse was waiting for him.

“My horse did rest didn’t she?” he asked the stable hand who brought her out to him.

“Yes, sir,” they said, “but Jill said you’d be needing her soon, so we got her ready for you.”

“He did? How did he know that?”

“Dunno, sir,” they shrugged. “Is everything in order than?”

“Yes,” Spayar said slowly, “Thank you,” and he mounted up.

—

Master Clen lived in North Garden, which was on the opposite side of Bellringer. Like South Garden it took many motifs and styles from the coast of the Shard with its overflowing parks and garden boxes but unlike the twisting streets of South Garden, North Garden was laid out in strict grids. It was one of the newest neighborhoods and city planners had planned it well and middle and high class artisans mainly lived in North Garden. It wasn’t a particularly desirable place to live, so far from the river and main roads, but for people who couldn’t afford the Swan Box but couldn’t handle the chaos of Bellringer or South Garden, North Garden did just fine. Other than Lowercity North Garden was also one of the largest neighborhoods, stretching out for acres with its neat roads and well paved avenues and well lined sidewalks with colorful awnings.

Spayar had been here once before with his father, when he was a boy, too young to know better. Calli had been a babe then and they’d gone to visit Master Clen so his father could be given his master’s title he so rightly deserved despite not being feylon. The house had seemed so much larger in Spayar’s memory, but the white washed building was only one story with a widely pitched roof made of copper and had gutters to direct the flow of water away from the house. There was no forge attached to Finnius’ home. His forge was at the guild in Tradesmen, where he worked every day.

No one came for Spayar’s horse. Of course. The day servant had probably gone home for the day. But there wasn’t a stable anyway. Instead he just tied his mare to Finnius’ porch and went and knocked.

An older woman with thinning, pale yellow, hair answered the door. She was old, with great creases on her face, and an unhappy, unsmiling, mouth. “Who are you?” though her voice and tone were pleasant, more so than Spayar was expected.

“Is Master Clen in?” he asked, “Its important.”

Lady Clen— for who else could it be?— looked him up and down. “What’s a scrap like you want with my husband?” she asked.

“Ma’am, my name is Spayar Hillsman junior. I need to speak with your husband,” he said.

“Allie, who’s at the door?” a man called from within.

“Master Clen,” Spayar called back, “Its Spayar Hillsman, sir-

“Hillsman! Let the boy in Allie,” Finnius called.

Allie opened the door for him, “Thank you ma’am,” he said, removing the hat that Abirid had given him what felt like hours and hours ago. He realized he hadn’t removed it when he’d met with Tallalsala.

Allie showed him inside where Finnius was enjoying his fifth and what looked like wine. Wine was uncommon enough that Spayar didn’t recognize it at a glance, as it wasn’t terribly common… well, outside of old people drinking it. “Sir,” he said and nodded politely.

Finnius grinned and heaved himself out of his seat, “Hello my boy, hello,” and Finnius embraced him.

“You recognized me earlier,” Spayar said.

“Well of course!” Finnius cried, “I can’t even set foot in your father’s house without him lamenting that his son is a politician and not a craftsman,” Spayar grimaced, “But that he realizes that the gods work in mysterious ways. Can’dhe wouldn’t have snatched one of Maldrin’s favored from their work if she didn’t have something special planned,” Finnius winked at him. “Now come, sit, drink? No never mind, that was a stupid question,” he waved it off as Spayar sat. “Allie, my love, will you give young Spayar and I some time alone,” he smiled brightly at his wife who smiled back and Spayar realized she wasn’t as old as he’d first thought. But her unhappy face aged her twenty years. She did leave them though. “Now, what’s this about, son?” Finnius asked.

“Your meeting with Narn today,” Spayar said.

“I told that fool- _you_ told that fool what was and wasn’t,” Finnius said.

“I know,” Spayar said. “Do you like Tallalsala, Finnius?” he asked her.

“Like, or not like, she’s got the city, I do what I can,” he said.

Spayar said nothing for a solid minute before he said, “What I’m about to ask you is treason, Finnius. I need to know where you stand in this conflict. The Grandmaster of the Assarus smith guild cannot be neutral, as you know. But I need to know, are you with me, or are you with her?”

Finnius took a few bites of his meal, an entire chicken with potatoes and spinach that smelled heavily of onions, garlic, and butter, but didn’t speak until he was ready. Spayar sat in silence, waiting. He would wait all night if he had to, but he would get his answers. “That girl is pretty to look at,” he said, “as is her Archon. But I don’t think there’s a real plan between the both of them,” he ate more chicken. “I wouldn’t throw my lot in with you Spayar, but I certainly have no love for Tallalsala. Most of my men are gone, fled to Gorum, your father among them. I’ve spoken with other guild grandmasters, they tell the same story as I. Conflict was inevitable, but a coup? So badly planned and executed. Way I heard it she didn’t even manage to slay a single one.”

“She did,” Spayar said. “Obi’s dead.”

“Ah,” Finnius said, as if he was commenting on some bad weather and cut off a chunk of chicken. “Why are you here, son?”

“I want you to make swords and shields for Tallalsala,” he said.

“Well that’s a given-

“As quickly, and as cheaply as possible. Tallalsala has no money. She, her army, and her supporters are borrowing on good faith. Far as I can tell she has no particularly wealthy backers, yet. In the mean time I want you to fill her ranks with flawed swords, cheap, easily dented shields, low fold steel.”

“That’s treason,” Finnius said.

“Tallalsala isn’t Asuras yet,” Spayar said simply.

“Why should I?”

“Do you love the Alliance, Master Clen?” Spayar asked him.

“Don’t be daft, boy, of course I do. As she lives so do we and Gala be damned if I see my country torn asunder because of some hot headed children.”

“I do too,” Spayar said, “I am not a native to the Alliance. But she is all I’ve ever known, and she is my home. But do you know what would happen if the wrong person takes the throne after this horrible harvest?”

Finnius said nothing at first, but he knew, They both knew. “They could just make it worse,” he said.

“Yes, and if the wrong people are powerful afterwards it could spell disaster for the Alliance as well. What do you think would happen if the _Clan_ became powerful?” Finnius swallowed uncomfortably. The Clan was allowed to live because it was good to keep those that scared the Federation around. The more they feared the Alliance the less likely they were to attack them. Of course raiding bands still came through the top of the Spine every year, but they were dealt with quickly and mercilessly. If the Clan became anything but a minor house in the Alliance everything could go poorly and they’d push for more lands, more rights, demand that their old traditions the Alliance had stamped out be allowed to come back.

“I don’t wish to think of it,” Finnius said.

“Nor I. Which is why we can’t allow Tallalsala to win. Her army cannot be ready to fight, or a least not well. I’m not saying purposefully make bad weapons or tools or armor, but they should be _rushed_. If defects happen…”

Finnius frowned deeply, “I understand,” he said. “It goes against everything I pride myself in though.”

“I understand,” Spayar said.

“Do you? Do you really? You’re a politician son, not a smith,” Finnius said, sounding offended.

Spayar drew his sword and put it on the table. It was twisted and bent by his hands. “I did this,” he said. “It is folded Mir steel, and one of he finest quality swords I’ve ever held. It probably used to belong to a noble, who’s dead now and paid probably too much for it. But I did this, with my bare hands.”

Finnius looked up at him after looking at the sword, “You’re a Smith,” he said. A smith mage, one of the craftsmen mages. A rare sort they were.

“I hate flawed, damaged, brittle, swords more than anything,” Spayar said. “I refuse to touch them. I might not be as trained as some smiths you’ve known, but I know metal. I can still tell impure metals or ones with flaws at the barest touch and it pains me because I _know_ I could fix all those flaws with enough will. So yes, Finnius, I do know how it pains you for me to ask you to create these flawed arms. But they must be done. I can’t afford to give Tallalsala any edge. My _donalim_ must win, at all costs.”

“And who is that?” Finnius asked.

“Prince Vondugard,” he said. “He will be a good Asuras.”

“You’re certain?” Finnius asked.

“Von doesn’t want to be Asuras,” Spayar said, “He just doesn’t want to die.”

“And he he doesn’t wish for power wields it greater than people who do,” Spayar nodded slightly that. “All right, son. I’ll tell my craftsmen, you’ll get your rushed, flawed, pieces.”

“Thank you. What do you want in return?”

Finnius looked thoughtful a moment, “How about, you owe me one?”

Spayar was no fool, he knew how dangerous such a request was. If Von won the whole thing Finnius could cash in tremendously. But Spayar had no easy options here. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll owe you one.”

“Then its settled. Would you like to stay for the rest of fifths?” he asked.

“No sir. I need to be getting back,” and Spayar stood up and grabbed his sword, sheathing it. “You’re only the first fire I have to put out today and I fear my night will be long.”

“Don’t let that Archon push you around, son,” he said. “I know your father, and you’re too much like him to let anyone tell you how it’ll be.”

Spayar swallowed a little, “Thank you, sir. Have a nice evening.” Spayar saw himself out. It was drizzling when he left the house and his mare had moved into he cover of the awning in an attempt to stay dry. “Good girl,” he said and went over to her and hugged her long face with a sigh. “At least I can count on you to do what needs doing without me telling you,” and she snorted a little, sounding amused, like she could understand him.

Spayar brought his magic up and deftly wove a spell onto the forelock of his horse’s mane. The air shimmered a moment, then returned to normal as he untied her reins. He got into the saddle with a groan and directed her away from the building. The rain bounced off the shield Spayar had cast like the one he’d cast the night of the party, enough to keep the ran off, but anything else would pass through, and shatter the weave. There were few people on the streets as he headed back to the streets to see if he had to speak with Hana MaLark.


	26. The Dragon Rider

Diylan had seen plenty of big, impressive, buildings in his life. Every province capital had one, the center of the old national power, the seat of the noble family. And then there were the Summer and Winter Palaces in the capitals. But every time he saw a new big impressive building he was still impressed.

The palace of Lo-Gashuai was beautiful and made of red wood and carved white stone. It sat surrounded on one side by a man made pond where a water garden covered large portions of the surface and wading birds stood in the shallows. The building itself was in fact made of several buildings, each perfectly square and connected via walkways and bridges, as some of the palace were on smaller islands in the lake. The roofs were pitched at the same angles and covered in deep green tiles to sluice off the rain and snow. The spaces of the palace were airy and the entire thing seemed to not float on the water but rather hover just above it. The light mist that clung to the surface of the pond helped with the effect. A great wall backed the palace, hiding the Mos from view.

There was no front wall though, or even a gate. Instead the entrance was guarded by a lone wooden bridge and a squad of guards who patrolled in regular intervals, up and down the length of the pond-like moat. By the small guard building there were several barrels full of reeds. Traffic moved in a trickle into the palace, but the guards didn’t stop anyone from entering the palace. It was  assumed that if you were going in there you had business there.

Diylan looked down at Gard, who was also taking in the levitating palace with wide, stressed, eyes. He swallowed and Diylan put his hand on Gard’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” he said gently. Gard looked at him and then nodded.

“Lets go,” Gard said and walked towards the palace, as he did he straightened to his full height, shoulders back, chin up and Diylan smiled privately. Gard might be a bit afraid, of at least the near future, he was still a Le'Acard, the ruling family of the largest country in the south. Diylan followed behind him, like his long shadow, or maybe a beacon of difference, he wasn’t sure which.

The guards eyed them as they got to the finely crafted wooden bridge, but they didn’t stop either of them. Gard walked with purpose and dignity, even if he clothes were a bit frayed, and like he knew exactly where he was going. 

Diylan looked over the side of the bridge as they crossed and then stepped away from the side, the moat had spinebacks in it. Spinebacks were like a mix between a snapping turtle and an alligator, with a shell covered in small, poisonous, spines. Spinebacks were lethal to humans and unless you saw a healer in ten minutes after being poisoned you’d die as your heart stopped. No wonder there was no front wall. Other than the bridge you had to cross the moat, meaning you’d probably step on one, since where there was one spineback, there were more, as they liked to form large colonies. The barrels of reeds now made sense, the guards were probably supposed to feed the spinebacks at regular intervals.

They crossed the bridge and made it into the palace. From here though they were lost, but Gard at least _looked_ like he knew where he was going. Diylan didn’t question him and no one questioned them either. They walked through the open and closed hallways, lost, trying to find the main room they were looking for. They were lucky in that no one stopped them.

Their luck ran out eventually though. A bald man in layered, yellow and white robes that barely didn’t touch the floor and a thick belt approached them. Diylan didn’t understand a single word of the exchange he and Gard had and then Gard pushed his hair back away from his ears. Unlike Diylan’s Gard’s were longer, and pointed, instead of merely triangular. It was the mark of the Le'Acard, the descendant of the Fey. The bald man’s eyes widened and the next thing Diylan knew they were being shepherded down a hallway and into a room. The man spoke rapid hapese to Gard who would say ‘sei’ every few seconds and nod in a swift, jerky, motion. Then just as quickly as he arrived the yellow robed man darted out and he heard his voice call down the hall, barking out what was  orders or for a servant.

“Who was that?” Diylan asked. Gard was oddly pale. “Vondugard?” he asked, touching his shoulder.

“An upper lord,” Gard said, his voice thin. Then he seemed to mentally shake himself. “His name is Nonomaku Achai.”

“So is Nonomaku a good guy, or a bad guy?”

“Good… I think,” Gard swallowed. “He said he would get the feylon ambassador here and send some clothes for us.”

“Who’s the ambassador here?” Diylan asked.

Gard looked up at him, looking wary. “Ami Rainwalker,” and Diylan swore up and down. Rainwalker, meaning they were White Foot and thus probably in Teldin’s pocket like the rest of her tribe. “She’s new, she was appointed Anokai ambassador within the past year.”

“And probably is loyal to your brother,” he said.

“She’ll kill me if she sees me. Or attempt,” Gard said softly. Because neither of them were stupid. The coup was only two days old and it had no doubt already reached across the sea. Even if it hadn’t Gard was a target and a threat to Ami’s chosen Asuras. He had to be eliminated.

“Not on my watch,” Diylan said, and he should have been too tired for this, but adrenaline was racing through his body all at once. He couldn’t let anything happen to Gard. If Gard was hurt his pain could be compounded a thousand fold. Spayar would never forgive him. Spayar would _not_ be merciful. There were few men Diylan would cross, and he’d rather cross the Head Overseer, or even the Wyrm Lord before Spayar. The two of them were feylon. If Diylan crossed them he’d just be punished, or at worst beaten. Diylan could live through a beating, he had before. Spayar wouldn’t hurt you like a feylon would, he was too Dirinnan. Even Gard would kill you if you crossed him too far; Spayar would just destroy you in ways you didn’t realize until it had happened.

A portal ripped open in the air and a single wyrmling the side of his leg with brilliant purple and orange scales whizzed out. It stuck to the door and cocked its black-eyed head at Diylan, flicking out its trident forked tongue at him. Diylan opened the door and the wyrmling crawled around the side before taking flight. He closed the door, putting his back to it. Diylan slid his mind into the wyrmling’s and it was like putting on an ill fitting shoe. But he forced it and the wyrmling dive bombed and crashed into the moat at the sudden bombardment on its mind.

‘ _Up!’_ he roared and the wyrmling squawked and thrashed and crawled from the moat. It was too wet to fly so started to crawl along the floor like a great lizard. It scrambled across gleaming hardwood floors, its claws tapping out an erratic cadence. Servants, lords, and guards leapt out of the wyrmling’s way as it barreled through the halls of the palace, not looking at them, focused on the task Diylan had imbedded into its feeble reptilian brain.

“Diylan?” Gard asked him after several tense minutes of silence, Diylan put his finger to his lips. Gard fell silent again.

The wyrmling finally came to a great hall in the center of the palace. There it took flight, its wings finally dry after its mad scramble through the palace. Those within the throne room gasped, a few cried out. Diylan had the wyrmling fly straight for the Go-Sana but pulled up short by ten feet, flapping in midair to stay in place. A streak of flame flew past where the wyrmling would have just flown. Diylan backtracked through the wyrmling’s mind, making the creature shutter, its wings falter.

Unlike wyrms wyrmlings could be directly controlled, and you could manipulate their minds. They also had no lasting memory like wyrms did. But they could remember things several minutes back with crystal clear precision. Diylan rooted through that and found the route he needed that wasn’t so round about.

There was a knock on the door behind Diylan, drawing his focus back to Gard in the lavish room. “Prince Vondugard,” said a woman’s voice with the slow cadence of the White Foot’s accent. Diylan looked at Gard, Gard said nothing, he was staring up at Diylan. He looked very young and afraid in that moment, knowing that even across the sea he was in danger from his older brother. Diylan felt ill.

He forced his focus back to the wyrmling for a moment. He needed to finish this, seal his ‘trap’. The Emperor was amazed by the creature. Dragons hadn’t been seen in Anokai since before it had simply been Ai and now there was a tiny dragon in the throne room. 

Sure not a _real_ dragon, but most people outside of the Alliance didn’t know the difference anymore. Dragons hadn’t been on Gala in any real numbers in hundreds of years. The species was dying out, the last dragon riders in the north and west keeping them away from battle out of fear of death. Of course there were about a dozen books in the Wyrd library about dragons from the time of Doll that specifically stated that female dragons only went into heat _after_ a battle. In their natural state they fought each other, but since humans had come along and used them in their wars that had been their new source of courtship. Dragon numbers always boomed after large battles or wars. Or they had. But the number of dragon flighters in the world had dwindled to barely nothing, the knowledge the Drake had becoming lost over the centuries, and thus so did the number of dragons. 

Meanwhile wyrm numbers remained stable, because unlike their blood thirsty kin wyrms required no blood to get their sex drives going. There were different circumstances for wyrm mating of course, something most people didn’t know (there were no books on the topic) because unlike dragons wyrms only mated in their native plane of existence. Dragons were Galian creatures. Wyrms… were from somewhere else and their ways were still mysterious to most, even their own riders.

 But for this purpose a wyrmling did just fine. There were, basically, no more dragons. A wyrmling was as close as any of these people would ever get beyond if he ever showed his wyrms to them. The Emperor stood up from his great throne.

“Prince Vondugard, are you in there?” Ami asked, knocking, ripping Diylan’s focus in two.

“What are we going to do?” Gard whispered. Diylan had no answer, he needed to keep his focus in one place. If he let this wyrmling get even an inch out of line it’d attack the Emperor and he couldn’t allow that.

Diylan directed the wyrmling lower. His advisors cried foul, but the Go-Sana was not immune to the lure of a draconic creature. Diylan had the wyrmling land delicatly on his shoulders and purr. The Emperor looked at it and thus Diylan, in absolute wonder.

“Keep close,” Diylan said softly. He tethered the wyrmling to that place, sticking a glob of his belsong to the Emperor’s forehead so the wyrmling would rub its small head against his forehead. It’d keep the wyrmling occupied until it rubbed the invisible glob off, or it dissipated. Long enough for what he needed.

“What?” Gard asked, bewildered.

“Keep close,” Diylan said again and got off the door.

“Prince-

Diylan opened the door quickly, as the door and caught Ami by surprise. She had several guards in an odd, stylized, plate armor, with her. She barely had time to react before Diylan lashed a knife hand out to her throat. It struck perfectly, to even Diylan’s surprise, and he compressed her wind pipe. It wouldn’t do any real damage but it’d stun her and make it hard to breathe, which her sudden sagging was a clear indication of. Diylan was a fucking _clerk_ and he wasn’t a good fighter. But he could still down someone like Ami with one well placed move. He still couldn’t believe that that knife hand had hit though, he was so out of practice.

Gard stared at Diylan wide eyed, surprised. “C’mon,” and Diylan grabbed Gard’s hand and started to haul him towards the throne room. He shifted his focus between the wyrmling and Gard, and when they finally turned off this hall he hard Ami cry out in hapese. The sound of boots running towards them was quick to follow.

Diylan started to run, dragging Gard along behind him. The prince kept up easily. Diylan took several turns, not slowing even once, knowing exactly where he was going, and before he knew it they were at the throne room. It wasn’t as large as he’d seen through the wyrmling’s eyes. It was large through, and painted in red, black, and gilt in gold. Pillars larger than Diylan could wrap his arms around supported the vaulted roof, and the floor was gleaming white stone. Large, open, windows, that looked out to the rest of the palace and the city gave the room the feeling of floating above it.

When they entered the entire court turned away from the Emperor and the wyrmling, to the two foreigners who’d literally just crashed the party. Diylan made an abrupt, exaggerated, and completely unnecessary arm motion and the wyrmling slid off the Emperor and took off, flying through the air to land on Diylan’s shoulder and rubbed its head against his temple. Realization flashed through the room: here was the dragon tamer.

Right behind them came the guards, and they grabbed the both of them by the arms and shoulders. The wyrmling hissed and squawked in rage and lashed out. It caught one guard by his helm, making him stumble back, shocked.

The Emperor spoke, hapese of course, and after a tense moment the guards released the both of them. Diylan shoved Gard out in front. He’d done his duty. He’d gotten Gard to the Emperor before Ami could intervene _and_ had charmed the entire court with the wondrous nature of his summons. Gard hesitated a moment before walking down the central aisle to the Emperor.

“When we stop sit on your knees behind me,” Gard whispered. Diylan just made a noise to say he’d heard. Gard stopped a good ten feet from the Emperor and Diylan a few steps behind him. He sank down to his knees as Gard had told him too and knew this was going to suck sooner rather than later. The floor was hard and cold with a lingering chill from the mists. The wyrmling coiled around his shoulders and neck, but was glaring back at the guards who were standing just inside the throne room still.

Gard bowed deeply before speaking with the Emperor in hapese, at first sounding unsure, but then quickly he got over it. Diylan let the sound of their voices wash over him. He couldn’t understand a single word of it so it didn’t matter what they were saying. Diylan’s knees started to hurt well before they were done talking. These people needed fucking _chairs_.

The’d talked a few minutes before there was a pause in the conversation. A woman spoke from the entrance of the throne room and Diylan turned. Ami had finally arrived. He was on his feet in a moment, the wyrmling on his shoulder hissing, feeling Diylan’s wash of emotions. The wyrmling’s sudden aggression at the appearance of the ambassador made her falter.

“Is everything all right?” Ami asked cautiously. She was dressed in northern feylon clothes, though covered her pale brown hair in a shawl in the White Foot style.

“Come a step closer and I’ll have it rip your face off,” and Ami stopped. She might be confused, but she knew flighters made no idle threats. The wyrmling snapped at her and smoke started to leak from its nostrils, its chest and lower neck starting to glow and warm as it started to generate the acid fire in its fire pouch, an organ next to its heart. Diylan wouldn’t hesitate to have the wyrmling attack Ami, and he could summon another, bigger one faster than Ami could use magic. He might be out of practice with fighting, but summoning still came as easy as breathing.

“What’s going on?” she asked but she didn’t look confused. She knew. The Feytol War was on. Behind him Gard was talking very fast to the Emperor who was saying nothing. “Explain yourself flighter.”

“You know,” Diylan said, “and you aren’t getting a step closer unless I’m dead,” because returning to the Shadowed Lands was a better alternative than a fate back home if he failed. Ami’s lips went tight, pinching a bit, eyes becoming hard. “Don’t do it,” he said softly, but loud enough so she’d hear. Gard and the Emperor were talking again.

Ami started walking forward. The wyrmling launched itself off Diylan with a scream, startling the court and Diylan was already calling another as the wyrmling belched a hot white acid fire onto Ami. She lifted her arm and instead of creating a shield to block the fire she created one shaped like a bowl. It caught the acid fire and then she wrapped it into a ball, the fire snuffed out as it burned out the last of its air. 

Diylan was about to open another portal when someone grabbed his arm. He turned and saw it was Gard. He shook his head and behind him he heard the Go-Sana speak in a firm, loud voice. He looked back at Ami in time for guards to seize her. She cried out but they dragged her away.

“This isn’t over!” she yelled in feylian just before she was dragged out the front door.

“We need to kill her,” Diylan said softly. Gard nodded shortly.

“Call your wyrm back,” Gard said. Diylan flicked his hand, again in an unnecessary gesture, and the wyrm alighted back on his shoulder, its chest still a bright color but cooling now that the danger had passed. Gard was speaking to the Emperor again, who sounded very understanding. They had another brief exchange and then Gard smiled brilliantly.

“Is everything okay now?” Diylan asked him.

“Yes,” Gard said.

“Oh good.”

“He said that he apologizes for the clear jeopardy that Ami means to me. She’ll probably be deported. He’s also very honored to have a dragon rider in his palace, and me too of course. Also you might not leave Anokai without a wife or two,” he grinned at Diylan. Diylan grimaced. Great. Gard said something to the Emperor and the man laughed,  at Diylan’s expense.

Now that the danger of Ami had passed Diylan could actually take in the Emperor. He was short like most lai, and a bit rotund, though not fat and probably in his early thirties. He wore practical trousers and unlike most of his court didn’t wear the long, loose, robes. Rather his clothing choice was particularly eastern, and while extravagant looked more like they belonged on a Peony lord than the Go-Sana, the style cut and trimmed to his frame making him look thinner than he was and had a high, stiff, collar. His hair was deeply black and he had few lines in his face, and wore gleaming gold eyeshadow that made his light blue eyes seem unnatural and unnerving. He looked to be trying to grow a beard but all that was there were a few patches on his cheeks and chin. Poor man, couldn’t even grow a beard.

“He asked if you have more dragons,” Gard said, taking Diylan’s attention away from the Emperor.

“Well my wyrms,” Diylan said.

“Maybe not something _quite_ so big to start with,” Gard said delicately.

“Hmm,” Diylan said. “He wants to see a bigger dragon?”

“Very much.”

Diylan’s eyes went black and he coiled his belsong into a thick rope. On his shoulder the other wyrmling chittered and squeaked, digging its claws into Diylan’s padded shoulder. Diylan lured a larger wyrm through to Gala and the portal opened. The big wyrmling rushed out and Diylan got the belsong rope around its neck with a flick of his eyes.

This wyrmling was twice Diylan’s height, about the size of a single story house. They were dark gray, though each scale was edged in a shimmering quality so as it flew past the large windows it seemed to sparkle in every color of the rainbow. The court ‘oooood’ and ‘ahhhd’ and the Emperor gave a cry of delight. Diylan had it fly around the throne room twice, to catch the light several times, before yanking it down. It landed with surprising lightness behind him in its six thin legs, using its wings to help keep it up.

The Emperor spoke rapidly as the wyrmling rested its head on Diylan’s other shoulder, looking at the Emperor hungrily. Diylan flicked it in the nose; _bad wyrmling_.

“He wants to know its name,” Gard said.

“Wyrmlings have no names,” Diylan said blandly.

“Well I know that. But the lai don’t. Make one up.”

Diylan held back a sigh, “Uh, Jollen.”

“Seriously? The Wyrm Lord?”

“I’m not very imaginative.”

Gard rolled his eyes at him and Diylan was lost after that. There was more talking and Diylan just stood with his wyrmlings, waiting. Finally the talking ended and Gard looked back at him. “Someone is going to show us where we can sleep.”

“So can I put these two away? Its starting to become a drain on my belsong.”

“Yes,” Gard nodded. Diylan gathered up a large glob of his belsong and after opening a portal threw it through. The two wyrmlings raced after it and as they did Diylan cut the lines that attached them to his belsong. Then the portal closed. Gard nodded to the Emperor who barked a few short instructions and the man from earlier, gods what was his name again Diylan couldn’t remember, in the yellow robes, came forward.

The man led Gard and Diylan away, out the front of the throne room and Diylan sighed in relief. “So, the Go-Sana is on our side?” Diylan asked as they walked.

“Yes,” Gard said. “Though really he doesn’t give much of a crap about me.”

“Really?”

“Well, sort of. I’ll explain when we’re settled, deal?”

“Deal,” Diylan said.

The man showed them to some rooms on the outer side of the palace, ones that looked over the moat. There were two rooms, right next to each other, and the man showed them in and said a few things to Gard. After that he left.

Unlike the room at the inn this room was much nicer, and it had a bed, a real honest to gods bed. While there was a bed, and a desk, there were still no chairs. Diylan wanted to scream.

“So what was that about him not giving a shit about you?” Diylan asked and just sat on the low desk. He wasn’t sitting on the fucking floor.

“Well,” Gard started slowly, “I’m a Le’Acard, so I’m at least somewhat important. But the lai have all sorts of stories about dragons, and there have been no dragons here in centuries.”

“So why did those assholes at Tokon lock me up and call me a demon spawn?”

“That I don’t know. They might have been confused? Or afraid, of me,” Gard said. “But the point is I’m a guest here, but _you’re_ the honored guest of the Mistfall Palace.”

“Great,” Diylan groaned, “And I don’t know a lick of hapese,” he rubbed his mouth. “Fantastic. So anything else I should know about this?”

“I told the Emperor that you’d be willing to show him your dragons, and not these little dragonlings-

“Dragonlings? Gard c’mon-

“I know I know, I had to make something up-

“No no,” Diylan cut him off. “Dragonlings are just… completely different from wyrmlings.”

Gard stared at him, “Wait there are real things called dragonlings?” he cocked his head at him.

“Yes,” Diylan said. “I won’t be able to keep up this dragons facade though. I can’t just… just call my _wyrms_ dragons. They’d never speak to me again. Do you know how insulting it is to them?”

“Well you can’t call them wyrms,” Gard said irritated. “The lai know our word for dragon, since its similar to the Fed word for dragon,” which was of course where the word dragon even came from. Most dragon riders left were Feds, it made wyrms all the more keen on destroying the Galian creatures. Wyrms and dragons hated each other, and wyrms would attempt to kill a dragon just as quickly as they would to kill a nercro. “So you have to use dragon.”

“Fuck that. If I can’t call them wyrms I’ll call them janglaria.”

“Janga-what?”

“Janglaria. Wyrm word, it means ‘sky children’ or something. I refuse to call them dragons.”

Gard scowled at him, “You just have to be difficult don’t you?”

“Not me. Them. Hathus and Gatthus wouldn’t listen to me if I called them dragons.”

“They’re your wyrms-

“They’re sentient,” Diylan said irritably. “They aren’t animals Vondugard, not like the wyrmlings. Wyrms are as intelligent as you or I, maybe even more so. I can’t just blindly control them, they do what I say because they trust me, because they love me. I’d slight them if I called them dragons, and like dragons they don’t forget or forgive easily.”

Gard frowned, though didn’t press the issue, he knew he’d lost here. “Fine,” he said. “I doubt anyone except an actual feylon would be able to call us on the fact that your dragons aren’t dragons.”

“And Ami’s gone?”

“Yes. I told Ekko that she wanted to kill us, both of us, because her loyalties were to traitors of the feylon crown.”

“Ekko?”

“Nokomi Ekko, the name of the Go-Sana,” Gard supplied, “Now she’s probably locked up. With luck I can get her executed and not simply deported.” If she was deported she could return to Teldin and tell him of Gard’s whereabouts.

“Lets hope so. What else?”

“Well, we’re going to have dinner with the Ekko so clothes will be brought for us, as will hair dressers.”

“Shit,” Diylan muttered.

“I told him we’d dye our hair if it made him more comfortable. We’re both getting black dye.”

“This is bullshit,” Diylan snarled.

“Deal with it,” Gard told him firmly. “I have to do it too. As it is there’s no way to hide your eyes, which intimidates them.”

“It _should_ ,” Diylan grumbled. “What’s a flighter if not intimidating?”

“But we need to attempt to blend in,” Gard continued. “And I need to figure out a way to get in touch with my allies back home. I need- I need to get in touch with Spayar.”

“He’s fine,” Diylan said.

“You don’t know that,” Gard snapped. “He could be dead, or worse.”

“He’s too valuable to whoever could make him betray you,” Diylan said. Gard stared at him. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. If Spayar was willing to betray you he’d be invaluable to your siblings, or your mother. He knows every move you’d make.”

Gard swallowed, “I have,” he admitted, “But he wouldn’t. Right?”

Diylan looked up at Gard. Under normal circumstances he’d say yes, but this was Spayar. Spayar was as stubborn as a rock. He also loved Gard so much it was sort of sickening, though the only sickening part was how much the prince didn’t see. Spayar would do anything for his prince, and did do anything, sacrificed everything for him; and Gard didn’t see. Spayar was the most selfless person Diylan knew, which was saying something since Spayar wasn’t a selfless person, except when it came to Gard. Even the idea of Spayar ever rejecting or betraying Vondugard felt so awkward to think about. 

“No,” Diylan said, “he never would. You’re too important to him,” he almost said Spayar loved him too much. But he wouldn’t do that to Spayar. He  kept the prince ignorant for a reason. Diylan wouldn’t ruin that for his friend. If Gard ever figured out how deep Spayar’s love was it’d be from him, not from someone like Diylan.

Gard smiled slightly, “I need to get in touch with him somehow. I’m not sure how though.”

“We’ll figure out something,” Diylan promised. Gard nodded. “Anything else I need to know before those damn hairdressers show up?”

“Ekko made a joke about you marrying one of his daughters,” Gard said, “I think he was serious though. You might not be able to leave Anokai without a wife.”

“Like fucking _hell_ I’m knocking up some lai princess,” Diylan said, grimacing. Gard chuckled. “That it?”

Gard frowned, “No,” he said as there was a polite knock on the door, “But it’ll have to do for now.”

“Fine.”

Gard was quiet a moment, then he said. “I shouldn’t feel as stressed out right now right?”

“What?”

“I’m safe. I shouldn’t feel like the world is about to fall apart, right?”

Diylan blinked at him, “Your entire life is gone, Gard. You’re in a self made exile in a strange country with just me. Spayar is who knows the fuck where. The Feytol War is well underway and probably won’t be short. We’re alone. I’m actually surprised, with how little training you have in honestly stressful situations, how well you’re keeping it together. A lesser man would have broken down and wept by now.”

Gard stared at him wide eyed, “No I did that last night,” he said frankly.

Diylan frowned, “Well you aren’t now. But the world isn’t about to fall apart. We’re safe, I’m with you. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“Really?” The knocking was back, Gard called something in hapese to them.

“I’ll do my best,” Diylan said, “But I’m not a warrior kid. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you make it back to the Alliance, and Spayar, in one piece.”

After a second Gard nodded, “I know. Thank you Diylan.” Then he turned and called the hairdressers in. 

Gard was ushered out and into his own room and two small lai women with rolled up sleeves came up to Diylan. Their hair was pulled back practically and while their dress was extravagant, it seemed practical too. They spoke in rapid fire hapese, tutting at him and one touched his red hair making a disdained clucking noise. They shoved him into a side room which was a bathroom, the water came out cold from the faucet. The women also didn’t leave and one of them lit a fire in the bathroom that  was supposed to warm the water. Then they both turned to Diylan expectantly.

It took him a solid minute to figure out what they wanted.

“No,” he said. He was so not getting naked in front of these ladies, one of which was young and pretty, the other looked old enough to be his mother, and was probably the younger one’s mother if the resemblance meant anything. He crossed his arms as the matron spoke in hapese to him, he couldn’t understand the words but he knew what she was saying. They were supposed to help him bathe. “No,” he said again. The woman looked cross with him, and narrowed her large blue eyes at him. She shook her finger at him, scolding him. “You can do that all you want lady, you ain’t getting a look at the goods.” She didn’t seem to get it though. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” and he walked out. The older woman followed, continuing to scold him.

He walked to the room next door and saw Gard’s hairdressers were alone in the room. Diylan went right to the bathroom and opened the door, Gard was in there alone, back to him. He turned quickly when Diylan opened the door, splashing water. “What?” Gard demanded.

“Tell this old lady I don’t want her in the bathroom with me, its creepy. Her or her assistant, I can wash myself without them.”

“Uuuhg,” Gard groaned and looked beyond him. “You so need to learn hapese, this is ridiculous,” he said.

“Just tell her to fuck off,” Diylan grunted.

Gard spoke to the older woman, she prattled on, irritated but Gard was firm. They scowled at each other, then she looked up at Diylan, said something sharp, and marched off. “There,” Gard said, “Now will _you_ leave _me_ alone to bathe?” Gard asked.

“See you at dinner,” was all Diylan said and closed the door. He went back into his room and when he went to the bathroom the women didn’t follow him. Thank the gods.

He took a long bath, enjoying the water. He washed his hair hesitantly. The soap here seemed rougher here than back home and it left his scalp feeling sort of itchy. But it was clean now.

Once he was getting pruney he got out of the tub and grabbed two of the towels left for him. They were more like thick sheets, but they’d have to do. He dried off and put one around his waist, the other he put on his head and across his shoulders and left the bathroom. The hairdressers looked up when he did so and the younger girl blushed.

The older woman looked nonplussed and scolded him before dragging him over to a chair- thank the gods- and making him sit. She tugged on his hair rudely before her hands turned gentle and she ran her fingers through it a few times. His hair was dried by a light touch of fire magic from the girl and then a substance was being rubbed into his hair. The girl was there to assist  since the woman did all the work. The paste was foul smelling and made his scalp itch so badly, but he didn’t move an inch. The woman worked it into every follicle of hair and deep into the roots. Then she smeared some across his eyebrows and the smell was overwhelming.

After sitting covered in the paste for way too long he was shoved back to the bathroom, this time he was accompanied and they meticulously rinsed out all the dye from his hair. Diylan just wanted it to be over. He didn’t like being fussed over. Especially by women. In his opinion women could keep their damn hands to themselves unless they were invited to it.

Finally though they finished and Diylan hoped that was the end of it. Unfortunately it wasn’t since while they’d been rinsing his hair a man had come in. He had Diylan stand in the middle of the room and took his measurements, squinted at Diylan, and then left. Diylan was then seated again and had his hair cut and styled and he was at the edge of his tolerance for this. He needed this to be over before he threw both these ladies out.

Thankfully that was the end and they left once they’d finished, the woman shooting him a hard look as she bustled her assistant out of the room. Once they were gone Diylan slumped in his chair, his head going back and staring at the ceiling.

 _‘Gatthus_ ,’ he called through the bond.

‘ _This one.’_

_‘How’d you like to go flying?’_

_‘This one enjoys flying. Not other one?’_ he of course meant his sister.

_‘She needs her rest still. Once I’m dressed, we’ll go flying.’_

_‘Food?’_ Gatthus asked carefully.

 _‘We’ll see. I don’t know if they have oranges here.’_ Gatthus harumphed and Diylan chuckled and disconnected from his wyrm. He sighed and got up and went over to the bed and laid on it. He didn’t sleep, but he did close his eyes and made his mind blank. A knocking shifted his attention and he got up, got the door.

It was the tailor from earlier. He bustled inside and without asking or caring yanked off Diylan’s towel and manhandled him into new clothes. They were all way too loose and this wasn’t going to work. The layers for the clothing was ridiculous but Diylan just grit his teeth and lived with it. Then the man stepped back, nodded to himself, and said something in hapese. Diylan just _sighed_. The man left without preamble.

Diylan lasted about thirty more seconds before he yanked off about three layers so he was just in loose trousers, and a tight fitting, stiff collared, shirt. He wasn’t doing this. He went back into the bathroom and found his flak jacket where he’d left it and brought it back with him to the bed. There he took out the tending kit sewn into the inner lining of the jacket and fixed any frayed parts and made sure the leather was in good condition. Honestly Diylan was better with a needle than a khopesh.

Mending took his mind off the world, helped him de-stress. It also helped that Gard wasn’t in direct line of sight so he couldn’t start to panic about him. He was finishing and pulling on his flak jacket when the tailor came back in. He squawked and started scolding Diylan,  for the state of his clothes. Diylan ignored him and walked bare foot to Gard’s room. He knocked but didn’t wait for a reply.

Gard was sitting on the bed, dressed in lai clothes and looking awkward. He looked strange with pitch black hair, and his face seemed unusually heavy with thick, black, eyebrows. He was looking at the wall but when Diylan walked in he looked at him. “What?”

“What’s he want?” Diylan pointed at the tailor.

Gard had a calm, brief, conversation, with the tailor even though the tailor looked about to burst a blood vessel. Then he left in a huff. “He wanted to give you shoes. I told him to leave them in your room. Where are your new clothes?”

“I took them off,” Diylan said, “I can’t wear that shit.”

“You should.”

“I’m not a lai,” Diylan scowled. “Bad enough they dyed by hair _and_ my eyebrows. I need some control. I’d be willing to wear clothes like Ekko does, but those robes and layers and the belts and cinches. I just can’t.”

“All right, I’ll let them know,” Gard said, he seemed tired.

“Feeling better?” Diylan asked him.

Gard looked at the wall again, “Not really. I miss Spayar,” he said. Diylan frowned. It wasn’t like when Spayar had gone to Galinsum for two years. Gard had been able to visit him then. But this was different. Gard had never been unable to go see Spayar, even if it took a few weeks, he could still get up and go see him. Now a sea separated them and unless Gard wanted to risk dying he couldn’t cross it.

“So do I,” Diylan said. “Now I promised Gatthus we’d go flying. Wanna come?”

Gard looked up at him, “Really?”

“Sure. Better than being down here. When you fly everything seems so meaningless.”

Gard licked his lip but shook his head, “Not this time,” he said.

“All right,” Diylan nodded. “I’ll be back before it gets dark. You going to be okay alone?”

For a second Gard looked stricken and Diylan was reminded again how young the prince was. He wasn’t even old enough to have served his military time and wouldn’t for a few more years. Then it passed, “I’m a Le’Acard, I’ll be fine,” he said firmly.

“Good,” Diylan said and went back into his own room. There new shoes were laid out for him, and socks. He put them both on before leaving again.

‘ _Gatthus_ ’ he called.

_‘This one hears.’_

_‘Time for us to fly.’_

_‘This one comes!’_ Gatthus said excitedly. As Diylan walked out onto the porch that also served as the hallway along the outside of the palace his eyes blacked out. He watched Gatthus pass through the worlds and then rip a hole open in Galian space. He flew out and the portal closed so Diylan could see. There was nowhere easy for him to land so he just flapped his wings, hovering over the moat. The water fowl had all fled at Gatthus’ appearance.

Diylan walked over to the moat and Gatthus flew a bit closer. He could only do this because Gatthus was significantly smaller than his sister. Hathus would have created waved too large for the moat. Gatthus offered his foreleg to Diylan and Diylan grabbed onto it.

Gatthus, holding onto Diylan’s arm, gained some altitude. He heard people down below gasping and yelling in wonder. Gatthus twisted in midair, and sort of… tossed Diylan into the air. Diylan managed to straighten himself out and land with an ungraceful thud on Gatthus’ back. He knew flighters could do this as a wyrm flew past, threw them forward, and they’d land on their feet on their back and then strap into the saddle, all while the wyrm was in full flight. Diylan was not one of those flighters though.

Diylan leaned forward against Gatthus’ neck and opened another little portal down near the earth. He made sure the little wyrmling, one only the size of a house cat, found Gard and then he kept it tethered there. Once he was satisfied he could keep an eye on Gard from Gatthus’ back he let himself relax some. He’d been so tense the past few days. Not without good reason of course. ‘ _Just fly, I don’t care where. We need to be back at the palace by nightfall.’_

 _‘Yes, Diylan_ ,’ Gatthus said and Diylan slid his mind against and into Gatthus’ so the flying was easier, more natural, and more soothing. They flew out towards the Mos mountains, soaring up to one of the tallest peaks. Up here the air was thin and cold, but Diylan barely noticed. The crisp air felt good against his hot skin. He could fly up here forever. He knew he wouldn’t, but he wouldn’t mind. When the sun started to set Diylan turned Gatthus back towards Lo-Gashuai with a touch of regret. He didn’t want to land. He just wanted to stay in the sky forever with Gatthus. 

The Mistfall Palace did eventually come into view though. When Gatthus landed it was on the other side of the moat, and they weren’t alone.


	27. Those are the Rules

A crowd was gathered on the city side of the moat when Diylan landed, and they quickly scattered when Gatthus touched down to give the great wyrm room. _‘Act impressive_ ,’ Diylan said, only a bit sarcastic. Like he had to tell his wyrms to act majestic. Gatthus shook his great head and neck, all the spines and scales rattling together like an out of tempo percussion band. It made the lai gasp and then talk together in excited voices. ‘ _Good boy_ ,’ and Diylan patted Gatthus’ neck.

Gatthus dropped down onto his front knees as Diylan extracted himself from the saddle and hopped off his shoulder and elbow. Gatthus turned to Diylan, bringing his great head around, ‘ _this one is hungry_ ,’ he said.

‘Go home then,’ Diylan said.

‘ _This one wants oranges_ ,’ Gatthus said expectantly.

Diylan rolled his eyes, ‘ _There are no oranges in Anokai other than what they import, which are expensive. Go back home, eat there. When we can return home I’ll be sure to get you and Hathus plenty of oranges_ ,’ Diylan said and rubbed the top of Gatthus’ great head, which was nearly as tall as Diylan was.

‘ _Promise?’_

 _‘Yes, I promise,_ ’ and he kissed Gatthus nose, _‘Now go home.’_

Gatthus gathered himself up before getting into the air again as Diylan marked where he wanted the portal to open. With so many ignorant people around he didn’t want someone to touch the purple flame ringed portal by accident. To do so was instant death. Any feylon knew to not touch, or touch any summoner’s portal for that matter, but the lai didn’t have summoners, they didn’t know. Summoning was for the lot of the feylon, as they’d been taught it two millennia ago by the Fey. Before the Fey had all either left or been slaughtered during the time before Sinou and the south had been a broken land full of nearly constantly warring countries. The lai gasped in delight as Gatthus took flight, the huge portal yawning open midair and he streaked through it, the portal closing behind his tail.

While the lai were distracted by Gatthus Diylan quickly walked to the bridge and across it. The guards were too busy talking or staring at the sky to even notice Diylan. He found where he had to go by following the thread of his belsong to Gard’s room, he knocked but there was no answer. He quickly checked through the wyrmling’s eyes, since he’d specifically attached the thread to Gard’s chest so the wyrmling would follow him. The wyrmling was where it was supposed to be, sitting on the foot of Gard’s bed, watching Gard, who was sleeping. Diylan withdrew.

He was about to leave to go to his own room to wash up a bit before dinner when Nonomaku approached him from down the hall. Diylan hesitated since he had a pretty woman with him. She was perhaps ten years older than him and had her hair was pulled back severally and unlike most lai her eyes weren’t blue, rather they were green, but her hair was still the same deep black as the rest of the lai. She wore vibrant face makeup, with flushed cheeks, immaculate red lips, her eyes were made up with sweeping pink eye shadow. Her long robes accentuated her figure spectacularly and had motifs of birds, flowers, and spinebacks on it. A thick pink belt binder that matched her eyeshadow trailed along the floor behind her like a ribbon.

Diylan was instantly attracted to her and had to check himself from staring.

“Hello Diylan,” the woman said and though she had an accent pronounced everything with the clear, concise, manner. He blinked at the both of them, stupefied. “Are you and Prince Vondugard ready for dinner?” she asked.

“Uh, he’s actually napping,” Diylan said awkwardly. “And uh, who are you?” he rose his brows at her.

She smiled pleasantly at him, “My name is Mettoketsu Hennakou,” she said and bowed slightly to him politely. “You already know Achai,” she motioned to the bald man who Diylan now saw also had face makeup on like he’d seen the Go-Sana wear, his eyeshadow also gold. Achai? He thought his name was Nonomaku. Gard had said that hadn’t he? “I’m the Anokai foreign minster,” she continued.

“Well your feylian is fantastic,” Diylan said, she covered her mouth and giggled slightly. He was going to have sex with this woman. He’d already decided. If it didn’t happen he was fine with it, but by the gods he was going to try at the very least. Diylan didn’t even know he had a _thing_ for older women.

Achai said something to Mettoketsu? Hennakou? He had no idea which was a given name and a family name and he didn’t know how rude it would be to to ask. “If you would go wake the Prince. His majesty has summoned you both,” she said.

“Right. First though,” he might as well ask, “What do I call you? I’m not good with non feylon stuff, clearly,” he said the word a bit sarcastically, “What’s your first name.”

She giggled politely again, “You may call me Henna,” she said.

“Okay, right,” and he turned away from Henna and Achai and opened the door. Gard was sleeping, curled up into a ball on the bed, his robes from earlier placed neatly off to the side. The wyrmling thrummed when it saw Diylan as if to say ‘I kept him safe’. Diylan rewarded it by banishing it back to its home plane and went over to Gard. He gently shook the prince’s shoulder.

“Eh?” Gard grumbled and then in the next instant he was awake and Diylan cried out when Gard whipped a fire covered hand toward his face. He stumbled back right onto his ass. Gard was now sitting up, suddenly dripping sweat, his hand still on fire. “Oh gods, _Diylan_. Are you okay?” he asked, looked at his hand, grimaced and flicked his fingers, the fire leaving with only a wisp of smoke.

There was a rapid knocking on the door, and Achai called through. Gard called back even though he still looked in shock. “What in the world Vondugard?” Diylan asked, touching his face to make sure it wasn’t burned, his own fear making him lapse into proper speech oddly enough. He did that when the Head Overseer was angry with him or started watching over his shoulder and breathing down his neck. Afraid of failure in front of the Overseer he made sure to always speak properly. Looked like it happened even when not of the Wyrd too.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gard slid out of bed. “I had a nightmare and then you woke me up and I panicked,” he said quickly. “I didn’t hit you did I?”

Diylan had finished inspecting his face, “No,” he said and then got to his feet. “You didn’t.”

Gard breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.” Then he looked up at Diylan, “What are you doing here?”

“Its time for dinner,” he said.

“Oh… oh okay,” he said.

“Also the foreign minister is outside with Achai. Her name is Henna. Also who exactly is Achai?”

“He’s like a provence lord,” Gard said and wiped sweat off his face. “He rules an area of Anokai and the lesser lords and knights and such under him,” Diylan nodded in understanding. “I don’t know much about him or… Henna you said?” Diylan nodded again. “Hmm. Well I need to wash up a bit, I’ll be right out.”

“All right, I do too frankly,” and he left Gard. Achai and Henna were talking softly together when he left the room. They looked up quickly when he exited. “He’s washing up and getting dressed,” he said.

“What was that scream?” Henna asked.

“Nothing,” Diylan said. She frowned at him. “I need to wash up a bit too,” he added and that was all he said before going into his own room. He removed his flak jacket and saw that new clothes had been left for him. There were robes, of course, but also clothes more like Go-Sana Ekko wore. He was sure these had been a rush job for both him and Gard so that their guests had clothes to wear.

Diylan washed his hands and face and tugged miserably at his new black hair. His beautiful red and silver hair was gone though in a wash of dye. It was going to take some getting used to and Diylan was _not_ looking forward to it. He met Henna and Achai back out in the hall once he’d redressed, still wearing his formal flak jacket. They smiled at him when he appeared and they waited a few more minutes before Gard came from his room.

Diylan felt a touch of pride. His poor prince was deceptively fragile right now. In three days he’d lost everything he’d ever known, and could lose his life in the coming months. When he showed himself now there was no hint of unease or fear Diylan had seen earlier. These first few days he was still shedding his old childish skin, but Diylan could see the man he’d become just under the surface. Soon there’d be nothing left of that child, just the man would remain, a man capable of leading a country in a few years once he came of age.

Henna and Achai bowed a little when Gard joined them, he bowed in return. There was a brief conversation in hapese before Henna said, “If you’d follow me then,” and Diylan fell in behind Gard as they went wherever it was they were having dinner. Normally Diylan would wait for fifths to eat in the evening, but other than the stop in the city he hadn’t eaten all day, so he was _starving_.

Henna showed them into dining room. It wasn’t very big, with only one table that sat ten, low to the ground like all the tables here, and no chairs. Instead luxurious pillows were set out along each side and then one at the end. There were several people already seated. Diylan recognized Go-Sana Ekko, at the head of the table, wearing more traditional lai clothing. Next to him was a woman about his age and while not ugly, she wasn’t beautiful like he thought Henna looked. She had incredibly bright and expressive face makeup though.

On Ekko’s other side was clearly his eldest son, and he looked exactly like Ekko except that he was a good twenty years younger, barely more than a boy, just hitting puberty it seemed. There were empty spaces next to clearly the empress and the heir and then an arrangement of other children, mostly girls, all young and pretty, several older than the heir too. Henna showed them both where to sit, Diylan got to sit next to the heir, and Gard next to the empress who smiled at him nicely. Henna then sat between Diylan and the girl next to him, the woman saying something to the princess. The princess scowled but got up and went and sat somewhere else.

Diylan looked at how everyone else was sitting; on their knees. He groaned internally and sank down to his knees. He didn’t fit easily under the table though. Well this was a bit embarrassing. He changed positions so he sat cross legged and he was still the tallest, most awkward, person at the table. Across the table one of the younger princes and two princesses were staring at him openly. He slouched a little never more aware of his height than right now.

He leaned over to Henna, “Is it rude in Anokai to stare at people?” he asked her.

Henna followed his line of sight and said something in hapese. The children quickly looked away, chastened. “Apologies,” she said, “you’re very different, so tall, and your eyes-“ she clearly didn’t know how to continue without sounding insulting.

“I have summoner eyes,” Diylan said without reservations.

“The emperor,” Henna started as Ekko spoke, “wishes to know if you find your rooms to be satisfactory?” she looked between Diylan and Gard.

“I need a chair,” Diylan said, “and a tall table. Otherwise, its fine.” Henna translated for him, Gard just spoke directly. Ekko smiled and nodded and Henna told him he’d get those things.

The conversation for the most part happened around him as food was brought out. First course was a delicate roll  up with some sort of translucent wrap, inside it was filled with rice and vegetables, served cold. Diylan tried not to eat too quickly, but he had nothing else to do with his mouth but eat since Gard was an easier conversation than Diylan because he clearly required Henna to translate for him.

Around the third course- some braised meat he didn’t recognize on a bed of flavorful greens, that looked strikingly like yellow stalk without the euphoric effects, all covered in a dark sauce- Diylan turned to Henna. “What are they talking about?” he asked her.

“The prince’s safety here in the palace,” she said popping a bit of the meat into her mouth. She continued once she’d finished, “Your feytol conflicts are known even across the Sea. We know what to expect, the navy will instill a line along the coast and be unmerciful with pirates and any unfriendly ships who don’t have permission to be in their waters from a Le’Acard,” Diylan frowned.

“What about merchant ships?” he asked, he hadn’t been alive when the last feytol war had occurred about thirty years ago and he lived in the Spine, so his knowledge about what happened along the gut wasn’t as good at someone who lived in, say, Peonia, or even Netal or Dorn.

“Not worth the risk. Most trade with the Alliance dwindles or stops during a conflict,” she said. “Don’t you know?”

“Not really my area of expertise,” Diylan said, “I worry about the running of my own lord’s keep, not the Alliance’s.”

“Mmm,” she said. “But many merchants don’t take the trip across to the Alliance when you’re at war with yourself. The navy can be overzealous, and sometimes so can the natives.”

Well that wasn’t good. With so much of the Alliance suffering a poor harvest, with only spots in the south or up along the top of the Spine with normal levels of food production, they’d need import food. Food from the rest of the Alliance, meaning those along the coast would sell it if they could and try and import from other countries. But if they couldn’t get that food they’d withhold it. This conflict wasn’t just going to kill those participating. If it lasted long enough it’d kill normal citizens too out of starvation, and it was only late autumn now. Diylan frowned and thought of the orange harvest that’d be going on back home. 

Oranges were Dodorum’s main export, the way they made money to buy the food they needed since the province itself wasn’t that big, and nearly all farmland went to growing citrus. There had been a few icy days even this early in the harvest, and he knew from doing figures every year that probably half the crop was frozen, and thus useless for anything but compost or wyrm food. If they couldn’t export their oranges, they couldn’t import food they needed. 

The figures danced across Diylan’s eyes and he saw it falling apart. It would be a very bad winter at the Wyrd this year and people would try to send their boys there once the harvest was over to become flighters, to give them a chance at something greater, and to keep them fed if they couldn’t. He foresaw a glut of young boys who were the proper age for training coming to the Wyrd this winter, instead of the normal dozen or so. Jollen would have to do something so no one went hungry. Either turn away those boys, or align himself with Virilia or an heir and pray they helped him get food. Diylan felt despair well up in his throat.

“Is everything all right, Diylan?” Henna asked him when he didn’t answer her, just ate his meal in silence, thinking hard.

“What are the Go-Sana’s plan for us?” he asked her, not bringing his own thoughts into it, returning it back to Gard.

“You’re welcome to stay of course. Though if one of Vondugard’s siblings come across the Sea for him the emperor will not harbor him. He wants no stake in this conflict.”

“Of course,” Diylan said.

“Unless he has reason to of course,” she added, giving him a look.

“Like what?”

“He’d never be so bold to demand,” she said, lowering her voice and leaning over to him, Diylan hunched a little to hear her. “He would want dragons,” she said, “and possibly an alliance with the Alliance.”

“Does he realize what he’s asking?” Diylan asked. There were only two ways a real alliances was formed between the Alliance and another country. They either gave up their right to rule and became a province of the Alliance, with the old ruling family becoming a high noble family, or they managed to convince a Le’Acard to marry one of their children. He doubted the Go-Sana was willing to give up his kingdom, meaning he wanted Gard to marry one of his daughters. Le’Acard rarely married outside of the Alliance, taking lords or ladies from high houses, or even commoners, as there was no way to tie a house to the Le’Acard, the marriage to an Asuras was also a ceremony that severed all financial and loyalty with their family, making them Le’Acard wholly. Political marriages were rare and Diylan thought the last one might have happened three hundred and fifty years ago when the Asuras married a Jotulla lady who was the ambassador’s wife after he accidentally got her pregnant. It had been a fiasco to say the least.

“He knows it would get him a powerful friend,” Henna said, “and the aslai have been bothering us along our border. What better deterrent than you, your army is limitless and one of the best there is. The Xa-Sana is afraid of the Alliance.”

Diylan looked across the table at Gard, who was talking to the Go-Sana still, eating in between his words. “He know that?”

“His majesty isn’t so bold as to ask, yet,” she said. “But he will.”

Diylan frowned, Gard wasn’t even marrying age yet. He wasn’t even of _any_ age beyond the age of consent. It would be a very big decision if he married one of Ekko’s daughters. As it was the one sitting next to the prince seemed enrapt with him, and she looked to be about the same age, maybe a bit older. He turned back to Henna, “Well if he can manage it, he might. But he’ll never get dragons,” he returned to nearly a normal speaking voice.

“Why?” she asked.

“I can’t just leave one here. He wants a dragon he needs to send one of his sons to the Wyrd and hope he can withstand the training to become one.”

“Which is?” she asked.

He regarded her, “Our ways are secret,” he said, “I don’t feel comfortable telling my family’s way of life to someone I just met.”

She smiled, “Yes,” she said, “That does seem wise.” Then she looked away from him, the Go-Sana talking to her, “His majesty wishes to know if the clothes he provided were unsatisfactory and what is that coat you’re wearing,” she said.

“Oh, well,” he glanced at Gard who was eating and giving a look that seemed to say ‘don’t be rude’. “I’m a warrior,” he said, which wasn’t untrue, he’d been trained to fight since he’d been accepted into the Wyrd as a young boy, along with flying and his normal schooling. “I don’t feel comfortable in such heavy, constricting clothing. Also this is my uniform,” he tugged on the lapel of his flak jacket. “I’d feel naked without it.”

Henna translated quickly, and he wondered if she was really saying what he’d said. He frowned a little when Gard cut in at one point, as if to offer further explanation. “He says he understands,” Henna said, “and wants to know if it has something to do with your dragons.”

“It keeps me warm when I fly,” Diylan said, looking at the Go-Sana as he spoke, “from both just the cold, and the wind,” he shrugged, “every… dragon tamer back home has one,” he tried not to grimace when he said dragon tamer. Gard flashed him a brief smile. Well at least he’d done right.

There was some excited talking around the table briefly, “There are many dragon tamers in the Alliance?” Henna asked him.

“Yes.”

“How difficult is it to become one?”

“It takes at least five years,” he said, though Diylan had been training to become one since he was eleven and had been given his wyrms at fourteen with the rest of the boys in his wyrmlish class.

“Could you, personally, teach someone to be a dragon tamer?”

“Even I could I wouldn’t,” and he noticed that all Henna said was ‘han’, which he knew from asking Gard on their way to the palace that han meant ‘no’.

“Why not?”

“Because only old dragons can bring young dragons to the ceremony that forms the bond between flighter and dragon,” Diylan said, “mine aren’t old enough, they won’t be old enough for another fifty years at least. And like I said if he wants dragons he needs to hand a son over to the Wyrd for training.”

“What about a daughter?” Ekko asked through Henna’s mouth.

“Girls are not permitted to fly wy- dragons,” he said cooly.

“Why?”

“They just aren’t. It’s against our laws and we do not change them to accommodate any girl. Even a noble girl,” Diylan said, with a bit of sharpness edging his voice. But he wouldn’t promise the Emperor anything. The Drake had strict rules governing their training and who could become a flighter. Chief among them was that girls were forbidden to ride wyrms or learn to fight in Dodorum. There were many other rules that governed a woman’s life in Dodorum and the Wyrd. From the way they dressed to the sacrifices they made to marry a flighter, to the jobs they could or couldn’t do. He wouldn’t call them second class, but women were very much beneath men in Dodorum.

“The Emperor was under the impression that girls could do anything boys could in the Alliance,” Henna said.

Diylan looked at Gard. “You can explain the intricacies of the province to federal laws to him,” he said, irritated.

“Don’t be so harsh Diylan, he doesn’t understand.”

“Doesn’t mean I wanna deal with it.”

Gard sighed and rolled his eyes. Honestly Diylan had had quite enough of the lai and he’d only been in Anokai three days. Most feylon liked to think they were open minded but the truth of the matter was that unless you were feylon, or acted feylon, they had little tolerance for you. Outside of the Alliance people were so… soft, so nice and upstanding and _weak_. Feylon hated nothing more than someone weak, or someone who needed another in order to survive. There was mediatory schooling, the only country in the known world that did that, so that no one had to rely on anyone else to read or write for them and so everyone would be smart _enough_ to have a job to support themselves and not lean on their parents their entire life.

Diylan especially loathed ignorance. Even ignorance simply because of not being exposed to something. He expected those around him to know what they were doing, or even if they didn’t to _look_ like they knew what they were doing. Diylan was running on no information at the moment himself but he always looked capable, like he could do it, like he knew.

Diylan ate his food, Gard was back to the center of attention, right where he should be. Doing the talking, entertaining their host, being charming. Diylan just kept his head down and did as he was told and made sure Gard didn’t die.

“Diylan,” Gard said as dessert was being brought out. Some sort of cold, colorful, mound that looked like green snow but was too creamy. When Diylan took a bite with a spoon found it as cold as snow much tasted like cream and some tasty flavor he didn’t know the name of but was very refreshing and seemed very familiar. Almost minty but not _quite_ as sharp.

“Yes?” he said, “First, what is this?”

“Uh-

“We call it cold creme,” Henna supplied next to him, eating her own green cold creme with the little golden spoon provided. “The flavor is angel’s wish.”

“Really?” Diylan had never heard of it.

“Its a plant grown only in Canora,” she said, “apparently grown only by the Canorian angels. Or it was,” she frowned. “Anyway, the Emperor wanted to see one of your dragons,” she added.

Diylan looked at Gard, “I was just about to ask. A dragonling, a little one,” he said.

“I’m going to be doing this a lot aren’t I?” he asked.

“Yes,” Gard said.

“Very well,” Diylan said and not a few of the princes and princesses gasped when Diylan’s eyes blacked out and he lured out a flight of cat sized wyrmlings. They erupted from the air above the table in a thunder of webbed wings. Each one was a shimmering pearl color that glinted in the light of the setting sun and the chandeliers above. The gasps quickly turned into sounds of wonder.

The wyrmlings banked as a group in the air and dived towards Diylan. He snapped a leash around each one of their necks. They fanned their wings and landed on him, all five of them, clinging to his back and arms and chest, staring around with their huge black eyes with tiny white pupils. Like all wyrm-creatures the underside of their wings were a riot of color.

Diylan held out one arm and a wyrmling crawled out to his wrist and squeaked, making many of the princesses cry out in delight. Diylan tossed the wyrmling up and stuck a piece of his belsong to Ekko’s chest. The wyrmling landed on his shoulder and pawed at his robes a bit making the Emperor laugh. “Can he touch it?” Henna asked Diylan after the Emperor spoke.

While normally Diylan would say no, he was keeping a sharp eye on these five. “He can,” Diylan said and the other wyrmlings crawled off him to explore. He wrapped his belsong around their heads like a bridal and attached a point to their hearts. The little wyrmlings investigated the royal family, sniffing the cold creme, and trilling at one another, rattling their spines and flaring their bright wings. Diylan ate his cold creme without comment, hoping that he’d be able to leave soon, he was tired and just wanted a good night sleep in a comfortable bed.

Eventually the five wyrmlings had explored all they had to explore in the limited range Diylan gave them and grew bored. They returned to Diylan and crawled all over him. He was the only one at the table with a bleeding belsong, the only source of open magic, which all summonable creatures were drawn to. It made him a beacon.

“They’re marvelous,” Henna said as they clung to his jacket and shoulders and back. “What about your large dragons from earlier today?” she asked for Ekko.

“What about them?” Diylan was leaning back on his arms, tired, and full.

“Can we see them?”

Diylan looked at the window, the sun had set a while ago, the wyrmlings were tired as well. “No,” he said. “Dragons only exist in the light. If you want creatures of the night you can ask about their counterparts, the wyrms,” he lied. Wyrms were the light creatures, chosen creations of a god. Dragons hid in the dark, slithering around through caves and tunnels they dug and hoarded their fortunes in eras past. They came out in the night like bats to feed and fight and breed if they didn’t have a rider. There was no reasoning with a wild dragon either, they were things of nightmare. But there were no more wild dragons, not anymore. “Its too late,” and Diylan flicked his hand, his eyes blacking out as the wyrmlings leapt from him and streaked up and back through their home. “Another time perhaps.”

Gard seemed to get what Diylan was hinting at. He was exhausted and had done more summoning in the past few days than he did normally in weeks. He spoke to the Emperor empathetically. The Go-Sana nodded slowly, saying something. “His majesty gives us leave,” he told Diylan. “I’m going to stay a bit longer, if you want to get some rest,” Gard said.

“I would,” Diylan sighed. There was another brief exchange.

“If you’d follow me,” Henna said and elegantly picked herself up. Diylan was much less graceful, getting to his long legs. He bowed to the Emperor and his family before following Henna out.

“Thank you,” Diylan said as they walked.

“For what?” she asked.

“For not being our enemy,” Diylan said.

“The Go-Sana is honored you’re in his Palace, Diylan, he would never be your enemy.”

Diylan’s mouth twisted. “Of course,” he said and followed Henna back to his room. He stopped, and hung off the doorframe. “Henna,” he said, before she could leave.

“Yes, Diylan?” she asked.

“I dunno how it is in Anokai, so forgive my idiocy since this is well… its pretty normal for where I’m from.”

“And what is that?” she asked, cocking her head to the side a bit.

“Do you wanna have sex with me?” he asked bluntly. Sure most feylon weren’t so straight forward, using a bit more tact or pretty words. But he didn’t know if the feylon subtlety would work on some lai lady.

She seemed amused by him, “While it would be an honor dragon rider. I don’t think you’d know what you got yourself into,” she said politely.

“That a way of saying I can handle an experienced woman?” Diylan smirked.

She smiled, looked down, finding him amusing, “No no. But I’m not as I appear,” she paused before that last word.

Diylan got the hint instantly, “Honestly I don’t give a crap what’s under that dress of yours. You’re beautiful and I appreciate beauty in all forms,” he said.

She continued to smile pleasantly. “Perhaps another time, Diylan. I don’t think you could handle me,” she smiled at him coyly, inclined her head, and turned and left. Diylan hated to see her go, but he did enjoy watching her walk away, the long ribbon-like sash trailing behind her on the ground bobbing with each step.

Diylan went into his room, locking the door behind him and got ready for bed. He slept soundly for the first time in days.

—

Ami Rainwalker was in the dungeon, a tall tower on the other side of the city that was also the city prison. Like in Tokon the most severe cells were at the top of the tower. Diylan was watching Ami through a wyrmling’s eyes. The White Foot was slumped against the side of her cell, furthest from the edge of the tower, still in her fine clothes. Her black hair was disheveled and wind worn.

It had been several days since Diylan and Gard had arrived at the Mistfall Palace. They had basically free run of the Palace, and Diylan had already memorized the layout for the most part. He still got confused by some stairs though. Ami had been up here since Ekko had had her removed from the throne room.

And today she was going to die.

Guards were on their way up the tower. But not to kill her, or bring her for execution. She was being deported. Gard had tried to convince Ekko to have her executed, but he’d said no. But she couldn’t be allowed to return to the Alliance. She’d go, find Teldin, and tell him Gard was here. It’d give them a few months, at best, to figure out what to do since the first thing Teldin would do would be to send assassins to come and kill Gard. He was the perfect target and the perfect first notch on his belt. He was alone, in a foreign country that wanted nothing to do with the conflict, and the least threatening. He bet it chaffed Teldin to no end that Tallalsala had drawn first blood. His little sister had beat him to murder. The Le’Acard were a weird bunch.

Ami didn’t know she was being deported. She’d been up here, alone, since she’d been brought. Though Diylan didn’t doubt she _did_ know that those guards who’d entered the barracks in full armor and weapons were coming for her.

“What’s she doing?” Gard asked, sitting next to him. Diylan was sitting in a chair, Gard on the floor like a proper lai. Well fuck them Diylan needed a chair for his grasshopper legs.

“Nothing, just sitting,” Diylan said. “I think she might be sleeping.”

“We need to kill her before the guards arrive to deport her.”

“Or I could kill her in transport,” Diylan said.

“Its easier this way,” Gard said. “She fell, and we were nowhere near her when it happened.”

“Hmm,” Diylan said, “More like she _jumped_.”

“Thankfully the lai don’t follow the Nedalian teachings of Lemp. To them to take one’s own life after you’ve been shamed is to regain your a honor. Ami lost her honor being put up there. It seems reasonable that she would have jumped.”

“The real question,” Diylan said as the wyrmling crawled down the side of the cell and into it. “Do I push her, or drag her.”

“No bite marks,” Gard said.

“Right,” Diylan said. “I’m doing it,” he said after a fairly long silence had passed.

The wyrmling Diylan had summoned was the same type he’d summoned that day on Swan Island. Twice the size of a man and more like a snake than a wyrm. It started to coil around Ami’s lower half.

The ambassador woke. “Wyrmling!” she shrieked, “Get off me at once flighter!” But the wyrmling didn’t heed her cries and had its long tail around her legs like a snake around a rat. Once it had wrapped most of its tail around Ami’s lower half it used its wing-arms to half walk half drag itself to the side of the tower.

Ami screamed and screamed and beat at the wyrmling, clawed at it and tried to hit it with magic. Magic just bounced off the scales, singeing them a little but not much else. She resorted to begging when the wyrmling got to the edge, as she couldn’t make it stop, couldn’t free herself. Diylan and the wyrmling ignored the crying woman.

The wyrmling slipped over the edge of the tower, its tail hung out over its body and for a moment Ami was held by its powerful tail. She was sobbing, what was left of her makeup running, she was afraid. The wyrmling cocked its head at her and then unwound its body from her. She grabbed at its tail but all she did was slice open her hands on its razor edged scales.

She screamed all the way down. The wyrmling momentarily following the path of her fall but Diylan wasn’t paying attention.

Diylan opened a portal right up against the stone wall of the tower. The last thing he heard was the thud of a body hitting the ground far below before his connection with the wyrmling was severed as it left Gala.

Diylan looked at Gard, “Its done,” he said stoically.

“She’s dead?”

“She’s dead.”

“Good,” Gard said. He paused for a moment, “Do you think it hurt?”

“I hope so,” Diylan said, Gard paled a little. Diylan looked at his prince. “Have no gentle thoughts about those who would hurt you Gard,” he said seriously. “They’d kill you if they could. It was her, or you.”

“But I wouldn’t torture them,” Gard said.

Diylan barked a laugh. “Your family sends hundreds of people to a painful death every year kid. This is the reality of being Asuras. You will hurt people, and you will always hurt them. You will send them to tables, you will force them to work until they die, you will let them be experimented on, you’ll have them tortured for crimes I don’t think you can even comprehend. And because of that they’ll fear you, and keep them from revolting. You know that’s the reason there’s never been a _real_ civil war in the Alliance right? Everyone is too scared of the Le’Acard and the pain they will wreck on you if they step out of line.”

Gard was grey, “You sound like my legacy teacher,” he said.

“Good, then you know. Wish pain upon your enemies. Because it means you’ll do anything to win. Only the weak kill their enemies painlessly. The respected kill in a way that makes you never want to experience it yourself.” Gard nodded slowly. “And don’t forget the people you make kill for you.”

“I-I would have done it if I could,” Gard said.

“Really?”

“I would have tried.”

“Good enough,” Diylan sighed. “Honestly I don’t like killing Gard, I really, really don’t. But I know why we have to,” he got to his feet. “I know why I have to.”

“To protect me.”

“Damn straight,” Diylan said. “If Teldin found us, well they’d just kill you, but I’m a traitor. You know what they do to traitors,” he ended in a near whisper.

“That won’t happen,” Gard said. “You did the right thing.”

“Mmm,” Diylan said and left the room and went to sit on the side of that hallway that was more like a porch. It overlooked the moat and he couldn’t see the barracks tower from here. But he could see other towers across the city, homes of the wealthy, or important businesses, each smoothly cylindrical.

He sat there for a while, looking out at the water garden, before Henna approached. “Is prince Vondugard in his room?” she asked him. She was beautiful today, all done up in blue and gold with fiercely winged eye liner and clouds on her outer robe, her lips the color of a bright summer day in Dodorum. Every day she looked beautiful though, Diylan didn’t know why he even thought he was surprised. Still hadn’t slept with her though. Not that she ever said no really, but always that infuriatingly coy, ‘I don’t think you could handle me’. What did she have under that robe he couldn’t handle? Tentacles? Nothing at all? He’d heard of actual sexless people, born totally genderless, but the stories he heard always came from the east, beyond the Spine, from the rare traders who braved the mountains and returned to their own countries rich as kings and bloated with feylon gold.

“Yeah. What is it?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at her as she knocked. Her figure _was_ ambiguous sometimes. Since that first night he’d accepted the fact that she really didn’t have that big of hips. She was an enigma. The door opened before she could answer.

“Henna? You look distressed, what is it?” Gard asked from his room.

“Its the ambassador, your highness,” Henna said apologetically. “I regret to inform you but Ami Rainwalker jumped off the prison tower earlier today.”

“Oh my, that’s awful,” Gard said and Diylan didn’t know how much he had to fake how pale his face was. “She jumped?”

“Yes.”

“Shame,” Gard said.

“It is indeed. What rites should we perform for her?”

Diylan looked right at Gard. Would he be strong, or be weak? Gard licked his lips, “Give her a lai burial,” Gard said. “She hoped to regain her honor. But our way sees no honor in her suicide. Do not mark her grave.”

“Are you sure?”

“You have no necromancers here,” Gard said, “only they can read the rites of Lemp to see a feylon off to the Shadowed Lands. They aren’t here, and your god is H’tal, if I’m not mistaken?” she nodded. “He’s a more forgiving god than ours. Let her go to him instead.”

“Very well,” she nodded, “I’ll arrange for it.”

“Thank you Henna, you are too kind,” he bowed to her a little and she left quickly.

“Who’s H’tal?” Diylan asked once she was gone.

“Their name for Adricka,” Gard said staring out across the water garden, his eyes shadowed. Adricka was a lesser god of death in the feylon pantheon, they were the god of suicides.

“Will that stop her from becoming jogull?” Diylan asked, looking back at the water garden on the moat where Gard was looking. There was an elegant white wading bird in the shallows, waiting for a fish, or a young spineback to gobble up. Adricka was also the handler of the jogull, the flesh eating, stag headed, men.

“All those who commit suicide go to Adricka,” Gard said, “and that is their lot without necromantic intervention,” he said it coldly. He thought Gard was soft, not having Ami buried in the feylon way, buried in shame. Instead he’d made it look like she wanted to cover her shame but was sending her right into the arms of the jogull handler. It was different for lai, since they didn’t directly worship Lemp and abide by the laws of his necromancers. But for Ami, a practicer of Nedalian worship towards Lemp like the rest of the Alliance, it was to never return to the Bright Realm again. She was jogull now.

“You’re getting it,” Diylan said, staring at a wading bird at the edge of the moat. Gard said nothing, he just made a sound like a sigh and went back into his room. Diylan stayed out there until Henna came to collect them for lunch. Lunch with empress Hikiro today out on one of the pavilions in the moat.

The pavilion was surrounded by lotus and lily pads. They made the air smell sweet. Crossing the long clearance bridge from the main palace to the pavilion Diylan again looked over the edge. A spineback surfaced and blinked its reptilian eyes at him, it looked like a small log floating in the water. “Diylan,” Henna called from the pavilion.

He tore his eyes away, “Coming,” he said and went to the pavilion. It was open on four sides with a pitched roof and sheer drapes hung from rings along the top molding. The drapes moved in the breeze.

The empress was with two of her older daughters, sitting at the table. Tea was already served, though the empty cups were still top down on their plates politely. Diylan sat between Henna and Gard where they’d left a space for him. Diylan put his cup ride side up to mimic Gard and Henna,  and the younger of the two princesses poured him his tea which steamed slightly. Gard was already in polite conversation with the empress in hapese. Diylan was worried over his tea, barely paying attention.

“Is everything a’ right, dragon rider?” and Diylan was so startled to hear feylon in such an accent (he’d already grown used to Henna’s gentle accent) that he didn’t even notice who’d spoken. He looked up and felt lost a second, he had no idea if that had been the empress or one of the princesses. The empress was still talking to Gard though so that had to mean it had been a princess. Henna nudged him subtly and her eyes flicked to the older princess.

“Uh, no everything’s fine, your highness,” he said. She smiled happily, over what he didn’t know. She had a round face, with cheeks like dumplings, and very subtle makeup he was used to seeing back home. Not that he didn’t appreciate how bright and vivid the makeup the women and men wore, but besides some provinces along the coast most feylon didn’t wear such obvious makeup if they did at all. The princess looked like her mother, pretty but not exactly Diylan’s type with her big blue eyes and braided black hair. “Also Diylan is fine,” he added and bowed a bit in his seat politely.

The princess just kept smiling, “You ‘ooked troub’ed  is a’,” and he was going to get real tired of that accent quickly he could already tell.

“I don’t speak hapese, so I have nothing to add to a conversation,” he shrugged.

The princess- what the hell was her name?- patted her little sister’s arm and said something in hapese, they both giggled. Oh fantastic. Diylan leaned over to Henna, “What are their names?” he asked in nearly a whisper.

“The older is Tro,” Henna said, “and the younger is Ekki,” she nodded slightly at the one Diylan had thought was older. “They are the third and fifth daughters.”

“Where’s the forth?”

“Sick.”

“Mmm.”

“Is there anything we could do, Diy’an?” Ekki asked, “To make you fee’ more we’come?”

Diylan had to restrain himself from what his first thought. Which of course was about his manhood. He bet these girls would be _happy_ to bed a ‘dragon rider’, but he didn’t think it’d be appropriate. Not to mention he didn’t know the social implications of banging a princess. Mainly; how much trouble would he get into. “Your father has already been so generous,” he said.

“ _Haaaan_ ,” Ekki said, “We would be honored,” she insisted.

“Thank you,” he said, “but I am still getting used to this place. And… well the matter with the ambassador today made me ill at ease,” he lied.

The princesses looked stricken, even Henna gave him a sympathetic look. “We’re sorry,” Tro said, she had a husky voice and sharp features. Unlike Ekki her makeup was bright, though unlike her mother or Henna was absolutely gaudy. It repelled Diylan more than he thought it would. “Did you know Ms. Ami?” she asked.

“No,” Diylan said, “But for a feylon to throw their life away…” he looked down as if emotionally affected by even thinking it. “Such a shame,” and he crossed himself, as a way to ward off Ami’s spirit as much as anything. Sometimes Jogull were said to follow those who had led them to want to kill themselves, or who’d made them. Of course Ami hadn’t killed herself, Diylan had murdered her. He didn’t know how that worked. She’d be buried to Adricka, but he had to assume all lai didn’t become jogull. So would she be sent into the care of the necrell instead? He wasn’t religious enough to answer those questions and he’d never ask a necromancer because he’d rather slap one than talk to one.

“It was terrib’e,” Ekki agreed. “If we can do anything p’ease ‘et us know.”

“Of course,” Diylan said and was glad when lunch was finally brought. The conversation was polite for the most part, Diylan talked to the princesses who clearly thought he was fantastic. Henna just seemed amused by the two girls, well of course she would. She knew Diylan wanted _her_ and not some little, inexperienced, princesses.

As lunch drew to a close Gard said, “The Empress wants to know if we’re interested in opium.”

“I can’t imagine why we wouldn’t be,” Diylan groaned, “I could use a high right now. I’m too stressed out for this shit.”

Gard grinned and assumedly told the Empress. As they waited Diylan was looking at the princesses thoughtfully when an idea came to him. He turned to Gard, “I had a thought,” he said.

“Oh no,” Gard said sarcastically. Diylan gave him a narrow eyed look.

“Private,” he said and got to his feet. “We’ll be right back,” he said and dragged Gard to his feet as well and they went to the edge of the pavilion that overlooked the water garden.

“So what was your idea? And why did we need to have this conversation here?”

“We need to send a message to our allies back home right?”

“Spayar-

“I was thinking someone else. Who knows where Spayar is,” which wasn’t unfair. Spayar could be on his way to some city for all they knew and out of Assarus.

Gard was quiet a moment, “Helida Rosalia,” he said.

Diylan came up short, his idea being overridden by the well ingrained hatred he had with the Rosalia, “You’re with those vile sluts?” he asked sharply, louder than he meant to and the princesses both gasped. He looked at them apologetically, “Girls back home,” he said before turning his attention back to Gard. “Were you going to _tell me?_ Or just let it be a fucking surprise?” he hissed.

“I needed allies,” Gard hissed back, “Helida is a good ally. You are _one_ flighter and Jollen hasn’t given his answer. You can get the fuck over it,” he scowled at Diylan and Diylan scowled right back. “Helida sided with me and not my mother, or siblings. Its a boon for our side. Because of the Rosalia constantly fighting in the blood feud with the Drake they are their own standing army. The necromonger corpse numbers at least five thousand, maybe more, and the necromancer one is two or three. Now get the fuck over it, the Rosalia are our allies, not the Drake.”

Diylan scowled at him but didn’t argue back too much. “Fine,” he said shortly. “My idea was that instead of trying to sneak messages through the blockade we have a royal message sent from Ekko, or one of his daughters, to our allies. The princesses are incredibly interested in our home. We might even get them to go across the Sea and deliver the message in person. Or maybe a royal messenger.”

Gard frowned, “Not a terrible plan. But I wouldn’t feel comfortable sending a princess to the Alliance. Not in its current state,” Diylan nodded at that. “But the plan has merits. If we tried to send a message it’d get intercepted, but a royal missive from Anokai? They could get ‘blown off course’ while heading for the Federation, land in Nedrag.”

“The princesses were very keen on helping me in any way possible,” Diylan said.

“Your highness, Diylan the opium is ready,” Henna called from the table.

“One moment,” Gard called back with a charming smile as ever. His face turned serious when he looked at Diylan though. “Ekko told me he wants nothing to do with our conflict-

“Yet he wants you to marry one of his daughters, or me marry one of his daughters,” Diylan said.

The surprise on Gard’s face wasn’t faked, “He does?”

“Henna told me. He’s not so bold to just come out and ask, but yet. He wants an alliance with the Alliance.”

Gard frowned, “He’s offered me nothing,” he said. “He wants an alliance he can give up his damn crown and lay it at my feet or actually offer something of value.”

“Like I said, he won’t just come out and ask. He probably told his daughters to flirt with us. Have they with you?”

“Diylan… _everyone_ flirts with me. Its a permanent condition of my birth.”

“So they have?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll talk to my princesses. You talk to yours. Maybe we can convince one of them to send an ‘important’ message to Nedrag. Maybe about dragons?”

Gard grinned a bit, “That sounds like a marvelous idea Diylan,” he said loudly, projecting so the women could hear. “I didn’t know a loop hole like that about girl dragon riders existed!”

“Most don’t,” Diylan said, “But I’m very familiar with the Wyrd’s laws.”

“Well, we’ll have to tell Jollen when we can,” Gard said. “Now wasn’t there-“ he turned back to the women. The table had been removed in favor of an odd pipe stand where a small flame burned on an oil lamp and long rodded pipes hung off hooks. “Ah yes, opium,” and he walked quickly back over to the women, Diylan following in his wake.

They sat together and the two of them needed no prompting or teaching on how to pack the pipes though it was interesting how they were lit. You held the bowl of the pipe momentarily upside down over the flame and let it start burning. The princesses didn’t partake, but the empress and Henna did. The princesses seemed shocked Gard was smoking though.

Diylan coughed when he took a puff of the smoke, next to him Gard sounded like he was coughing up a lung. “Have you never smoked before?” Henna asked, a bit amused.

“No, we have,” Diylan said, patting Gard firmly on the back. He took another hit and it was _just_ as rough as the first one. He looked at Gard, “I can’t smoke this,” he said and put his pipe up. Gard took a few more, to see if it got better, but clearly it didn’t. He also put his pipe up.

“That was rough,” Gard said and rubbed his temple. The empress said something worriedly and while Diylan didn’t know what Gard said it sounded like he was reassuring her about something.

“Can’t even get high, how useless,” Diylan sighed and leaned back on his arms. Couldn’t have sex, couldn’t drink, couldn’t get high. Anokai was officially the worst place Diylan had ever visited.

“Unless you wanted to burn your brain,” Gard said and then groaned, “That gave me a headache.”

“You had like half a bowl,” Diylan frowned at him.

“It was _bad_ ,” Gard said, sounding pained.

“That was some of the best opium in Anokai,” Henna said.

“Compared to the stuff we smoke back home,” Diylan said, “this is stuff you’d get on the corner of the street and hope it wasn’t laced with additives.”

“We have a much larger drug market,” Gard said quickly, “its much more refined and regulated than I think Lai opium is.” Henna frowned, clearly insulted, especially since she was smoking normally. “For us its rough and _Anceion_ I have a horrible headache,” he pressed the ball of his hand to his forehead.

“Shou’d we ca’ a hea’er?” Tro asked.

“No no,” Gard said, “It’ll pass. Just my body reacting to the drug. No need to bring a healer into it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Gard said and gave her a nice smile, “Thank you for being concerned for my well being your highness,” and Diylan was glad he had the self control to not snort when Tro blushed. She didn’t strike him as the blushing sort honestly. But Gard had that effect on people. Made princesses blush and perfectly reasonable people start riots and his elder siblings want him dead and his mother to not protect him like she did her youngest children. He was a player in this Alliance game and could keep up with anyone given a moment to contemplate his move. No wonder Spayar was in love with him.

“Maybe a nap is in order?” Diylan asked. “Especially after this morning,” he frowned.

Gard looked over at Diylan, “Yes, you might be right,” he nodded. He said something to the empress who smiled a little and nodded. “Accompany me, Diylan? This headache is fierce.”

“Of course your highness,” and Diylan stood. Gard said something to the princesses, kissed their hands with a charming smile, and then got up. Ekki practically swooned. When they crossed the bridge Diylan asked, “Do you really have a headache?”

“Yes,” Gard said. “If I do form an alliance with Anokai I’m sending Ekko some _good_ drugs.” Diylan gave him a look, surprised by such an act of generosity. “If they catch on we’d have more drug trade along the eastern seaboard.” Diylan chuckled; there was the angle he’d expected.

“So now what?”

“Get one of our princesses to get us a message to Nedrag,” Gard said as they walked down the outer hallway towards their rooms. “We _need_ to get into contact with Helida.

“Isn’t there anyone else?”

“Spayar, or Genjinn, but he’s even further from us than Helida. None of my other allies were solid, they wanted to see what happened.”

“As I feel many lords and ladies were, for everyone,” Diylan said.

“Yes. I just can do nothing here without knowing if I have a power base. I got a late start,” Gard frowned, “I reacted instead of being proactive,” he rubbed his forehead, wincing in pain. “Teldin has the White Foot and Wren-Kal, Tallalsala the Clan, Delin the Edrok-

“I didn’t know that,” Diylan said.

“You mean you didn’t see his damn light strider? I swear whenever I see him he makes a point to comment about it,” he rolled his eyes.

“Personally I think Delin’s a fool,” Diylan said as they came to their rooms.

“He is a fool. They’re all fools,” Gard looked out at the water garden a moment. “We’re all fools,” he said. “Dancing the same dance we’ve done for eighteen hundred years.” He looked back at Diylan, “Conflict reigns,” he said.

“You can’t even blame Sinou for that. His what? Forth time grandson started the conflicts?”

“The fifth Asuras,” Gard agreed. “I wonder what he’d think if he saw us now. His legacy destroying itself every twenty to thirty years,” his frown deepened.

“Who knows,” Diylan shrugged, “He’d probably be appalled by a lot of stuff, including that. Girls all wore dresses in his time.”

“He’d just be happy there was no more slavery,” Gard said. “Hmm,” he got a thoughtful look on his face but didn’t share his thoughts. “Doesn’t matter really, he’s dead. Now, I’m going to try and sleep this headache off. Don’t get into trouble-

“Gard, this is me you’re talking to.”

Gard gave him an unamused look, “I know. Now don’t get into trouble.” Diylan snorted.

“Sleep well my most royal pain in my ass.”

Gard grimaced at him, “First Spayar now you before I know it even Mali’s going to call me that.”

“Oh she does,” Diylan said and laughed at Gard’s face, “she would just never say it to your face. Now go rest and pray we never have to smoke that shit again.” Gard grinned and vanished into his room.


	28. Believe as You Want

Spayar entered the stables like the storm currently rolling in from the south. He wore colors again, Tallalsala had had his rooms searched and everything black or dark had been taken. He wore the colors of Tallalsala’s personal seal, blue, green, and gold. He hated them, and it was like she was trying to piss him off by making them all on the brighter side. The Ferek that were in the stables and that saw him sort of ducked and slipped back into the stalls they were occupying but he did see a fox go running down one of the corridors with an air of purpose. He didn’t doubt Cati would know he was in here before long.

The stable hand break room was full. There was a new stable master, an older man who’d been hired by Tallalsala from Jest, a city just north of Assarus, and Jill had wormed his way into being his deputy. Which was good for Spayar. Since the new stable master, who Spayar didn’t care enough of to learn the name of, had come he’d hired on over two dozen more hands. So the break room was always filled. But Spayar had no trouble finding Jill’s coppery red head among the others.

Jill was playing Snapdragon with some of his friends, Spayar stood over his shoulder and rose his brow looking at Jill’s cards, good hand. He waited until the cards scattered across the table had been half picked up before announcing himself with a simple, “Jill.”

The man twisted in his seat, “Ey! Spayar, good to see you,” Jill said with a wide smile.

“Can I talk to you a sec?”

“Course, course, be right back,” and Jill popped up and they left the break room. The corridor was empty and none of the Ferek were sticking their heads into it curiously. “What can I do for ya’?”

“I need your ma’s services,” Spayar said.

“Eh?”

“I need her to make new clothes for my sis,” he said and Jill’s face grew dark. “I know you’ve seen her,” and his voice grew angry and tight. Tallalsala took Calli _everywhere_ with her, clearly so Spayar couldn’t try anything. “The tailors in the palace will only make what Tallalsala says.”

“No offense Spayar, but your sis looks gods awful in that shit.”

“She does,” Spayar agreed. “I trust your mother though.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“I’ll give her full compensation as soon as I’m able, plus whatever she thinks is fair on top of that,” Spayar said.

“I don’t see why that wouldn’t be a problem,” Jill said, “she was tellin’ me when she made Calli’s dress for Tallalsala’s naming day that it was the most fun she’d had in a while,” Jill smiled a little. “And she cursed you and your entire family for not visitin’ more,” Spayar snorted.

“Tell her next time you go home for dinner I’ll come,” he said.

“O’ she’d like that a whole lot. Our mas were friends you know.” 

Spayar nodded, “I assume she complains we grew up too fast?”

Jill laughed, “That she does! I’ll talk to her, I’m sure she’d be thrilled.”

“Thank you. It needs to be clothes worthy of the high court, and in absolute fashion so Tallalsala won’t be able to find an excuse to throw them out.”

“Oh don’t you worry, my ma can do that,” Jill said with a sly grin. “If she says yes I’ll have her brought up to the palace. No need to go down into the city.”

Spayar looked at Jill for a second, “You’re a good friend, Jill,” he said.

“Aw, Spayar it ain’t nothin-

“I mean it,” Spayar said. “You’re a good person, and frankly there aren’t that many people like that in this country.”

“Yeah well… you’re good too Spayar,” Jill said awkwardly.

When Spayar smiled it was only with his mouth. “Sure I am,” he said.

“Jill,” a stable hand was coming down the hall leading a stallion that Spayar felt was familiar but couldn’t place. “Where do I put this?”

“In one of the stall o’ course are you an imbecile?”

The stablehand’s mouth moved a second, they clearly hadn’t been expecting such harshness from Jill. “Its a noble’s horse, Jill.”

“Ah, right, right,” Jill said. “Nobility stalls are down hall A,” and he pointed. The stablehand nodded.

“Hey,” Spayar called as they started down the hall, “which noble?”

“Didn’t ask, sir,” they said.

“What’s the horse’s name?”

The stablehand looked at the horse, “Said his name was Swordfish, what the hell is a swordfish?” he asked them.

“Its a fish with a sail on its back and a long, pointed, face,” Spayar said, then he turned to Jill, “Talk to your mother, I need to go.”

“Aww, really?”

“That noble out there is for me. Have someone fetch me once you see her.”

“Right,” and Spayar was already off a quick walk.

When he got to the courtyard that led to the palace he was just in time to see a burly butler lifting a fairly large bag entering it. He jogged to the doorway and saw the butler following a man. A man Spayar knew since he’d recognize that ass anywhere. “Abirid,” he called.

Abirid turned, “Spayar. Just the man I was looking for,” he said something to the butler and then went back over to Spayar. “My who dressed you? I certainly hope not your ma.”

“My ma’s in Gorum-

“You have no sense of humor do you?”

“I try not to,” he said dryly.

Abirid eyed him and Spayar grinned cheekily. Abirid sighed and rolled his eyes at him, “Why do I even bother?”

“Because the last time I was your stallion.”

Abirid’s mouth opened a little bit, “You must be a commoner because _no one_ would ever say that to me in public,” and he could see Abirid growing annoyed with him.

“That going to stop you from it happening in the future?”

Abirid looked away a second, “Probably not.”

“Then what’s the complaints for? And what are you doing here?”

“First, who gave you those hideous clothes?”

“Tallalsala,” Spayar said, “she threw out the ones you gave me. Said I wasn’t allowed to wear black.”

“How ghastly of her. Take me to your quarters.”

“ _Abirid-_

“Just do it,” he said pleasantly. Spayar only sort of scowled at him before leading him down a hall. The butler followed after them. “How’s your sister?”

“Could be better,” Spayar said shortly.

“How are you?”

Spayar gave him a hard look, “You send that message to your mother?” he asked.

“Yes. And I got a reply already.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you when we get to your room,” Abirid said simply. “Ears everywhere,” and he glanced behind them at the butler walking a few paces behind them. They said nothing more before they arrived at Spayar’s room where Spayar took the large bag from the butler and shooed him away.

“What’s in this it weighs a ton,” Spayar complained as he closed the door and saw Abirid inspecting his walls. “What are you doing?” he asked, dropping the bag onto the bed.

“Spy holes,” he said.

“I covered them all already,” Spayar said.

“Well there could be eavesdroppers.”

“There were. Not any more.”

“Oh?” Abirid looked at him curiously.

“I rammed my sword through the wall on the last few eavesdroppers. I even managed to skewer one. They don’t listen in on my room anymore.”

“The Conflict’s barely a week old and you scare people, how like you.”

“I don’t like being spied on,” he said shortly.

“Me neither,” Abirid said.

“Now what are you doing here Abirid? And what the hell is in that bag?” Spayar pointed at it. Abirid went over to it undid the buckles and opened it. Spayar sighed. It was clothes. _Northman’s_ clothes. “You’re going to get me into so much trouble.”

“Oh I don’t need to help you with that, Spayar,” Abirid smirked at him. “I thought you looked _very_ handsome in proper clothes and not these player garments Tallalsala insists on dressing you in. So I brought you some,” he pulled out a shirt and held it against Spayar’s skin, it was a color, but very dark and dull.

“You’re impossible.”

“Takes one to know one,” Abirid said cheerfully and set the shirt down before undoing the clasps on Spayar’s jacket with deft fingers.

“What did your mother say?” he asked, not stopping Abirid. Sometimes it was just better to let nobles do whatever they wanted, and if Abirid wanted to make a statement Spayar wasn’t going to stop him.

“She was _very_ interested in your proposition,” Abirid said and pushed the jacket off Spayar’s shoulders. “But unweavers with skill enough to undo a Le’Acard spell are not easy to come by.”

“What does she want then?” Spayar asked and tugged his shirt off.

“If you win, she wants Vondugard to marry one of my sisters,” Abirid said and went to pick out a shirt from the bag.

“I can promise many things Abirid, but your mother should know that isn’t one of them. Vondugard will marry who he wants, just like all Le’Acard have, without the agenda of politics behind it.”

“Don’t be stupid Spayar all Le’Acard marry for politics, even if its the marriage of a commoner,” he pressed the shirt against Spayar’s chest firmly. “Reminder to the nobles that they can’t have what the Le’Acard do.”

“I won’t force Vondugard to marry someone for an alliance,” Spayar said. “You mother wants her daughter to be the next queen, fine, I’ll arrange for their courtship. She can hang off his arm at the celebration ball when we win, find him when he runs off, because he always does, to escape his responsibilities, and help him recover from the war he was just in. I can throw them together, but I can’t just throw away my best friend’s potential happiness for your mother’s ego.”

Abirid frowned darkly at him, “That isn’t what she wants-

“I don’t care what she wants,” Spayar said, grabbing Abirid’s wrist so he couldn’t pull away, or strike him, or whatever dumb move he might pull. “All I care about is that she sends an unweaver. And if she does, she’ll be rewarded,” he said it slowly. “Whichever daughter or whore she wants will get Vondugard’s undivided attention until and unless he finds someone else of interest to him. And if she _doesn’t_ send the unweaver, and we win, which we will because I don’t _lose_ I’ll be sure to tell Vondugard all about her scheming to try and force him to marry one of her daughters. You know how the Le’Acard hate to be manipulated, Abirid,” he said darkly. “She’ll be lucky to retain her duchy when Vondugard hears of it.”

“You wouldn’t,” Abirid said, narrowing his eyes.

“I would do all sorts of things to ensure we win,” Spayar said. “I slept with you didn’t I?” Abirid flushed a bit at that. “So, tell your mother she’ll get her chance at wooing the Asuras, or she can expect demotion.”

“You’re literally awful.”

“Keeps me up at night,” Spayar said meanly.

“Yet you pull it off so well,” Abirid continued.

“I know,” Spayar smirked, not missing the look in Abirid’s eyes. But he didn’t have time to humor the lordling today.

“Let go.”

Spayar released Abirid’s wrist and then took the shirt and pulled it on. It was sleeveless, wonderful. Sleeveless in a cold, rainy, city like Assarus. How perfect. Next went on a light jacket that he clearly wasn’t supposed to close, and then another of those long tailed vests Spayar found annoying to exist in. They were all dark, but colored, and very subtle with the North insignias and needlework. Abirid had probably combed every closet in the North manse in Fey’s Shadow for these clothes and then had had tailors whip them into Spayar’s size as quickly as they could manage to produce so many things in just a few days.

“Rain coat,” Abirid said, showing a brown leather coat that was slick to look at and had a soft silken lining. 

“Which it seems I’ll need sooner, rather than later,” Spayar said glancing out the window at the storm that had finally crested over the city and dumped its contents across the entire valley.

“Did she take your last one?” Abirid asked, cocking his head at Spayar.

“She took _everything_ ,” Spayar growled angrily. “Decided if I was going to be her pet she was going to decide everything I do, including what I wear. The only thing she didn’t take was my sword because its garbage anyway,” he scowled.

Abirid looked over at the sword that lay naked on the desk. It was so bent and warped it was barely straight anymore and he’d been slowly twisting it into a corkscrew of mangled metal. “You should take better care of your things, Spayar,” he said, looking away from the one elegant sword.

“It isn’t even _mine_ ,” Spayar said, “I just found it after the coup and decided to hold onto it.”

“Do you want another one?” Abirid asked, eyeing Spayar.

Spayar frowned, “Now what are you thinking and why do I have a feeling its going to be stupid?”

“I will talk to Tallalsala,” Abirid said and grabbed the collar of Spayar’s vest. “About your _unsightly_ wardrobe. If her pet is going to be my lover-

“Which I’m _not_ ,” Spayar said firmly.

“Not that she needs to know. But she’ll believe me because she wants to believe me. But if you are going to be my lover I can’t have you dressed so _ghastly_ , its insulting to me. She can either let me dress you, or you inevitably start dressing yourself again and we both know you’ll pick all black out of spite.”

“I look good in black,” Spayar grumbled.

“That you do. And maybe I can convince her to let me dress your poor sister,” and Spayar’s face grew dark. Abirid swallowed slowly and licked his lips nervously. “We’re on the same side Spayar,” he reminded him.

Spayar stepped out of Abirid’s grip and walked over to the window, passing the desk as he did. He flicked his hand at it and the sword jumped into his fingers. Just a week ago he wouldn’t have been able to do that. But his smithing was becoming stronger, since he was using it so much. He stood in front of the window and held the sword blade in his hand, the edge blunt against the soft skin of his palm. He didn’t twist the sword again, but he thought about it. Thinking about what Tallalsala had done to his sister made him so angry he could barely think, so he tried not to think about it.

“Spayar?” Abirid asked carefully.

Spayar looked down the palace grounds at the city below the rise the palace was set on as rain slashed through the air. The lights glowed brightly from all across the city, disappearing down the river to become a glowing haze in the distance. He could see the bright awnings covering the sidewalks and to the north he could dimly see the great Taldradin at the center of Bellringer, its clock face like a full moon. His city, not the one he’d been born in, but the one he’d been raised in. The one his brother and sisters played in the streets of and walked nearly across to go to a good school in Swan’s Box. 

A week ago it had been decorated in the colors of the Le’Acard to celebrate the princess’ naming day, and everyone had been so happy, even with the impending famine they all could feel like a slowly approaching fog creeping over the land. Now the city was half deserted and the times Spayar had gone out in it there had been a tense air about it. No one walked the streets unless they had to, children and pets were kept inside, police moved in groups. He’d heard Cat’s Cradle had grown in population. Thieves from nearby cities and towns flocked to Assarus to take advantage of all the empty homes from people fleeing the city since they knew, maybe not now, but eventually, war would come to their home. Come to Spayar’s home.

“I’m taking care of that already,” Spayar said in a soft tone, though he knew Abirid could hear him. “I have a seamstress I trust making clothes for my sister.”

“It’s going to work out Spayar,” Abirid said.

Spayar turned and looked at him, “And you know that?”

“Well, its you,” Abirid shrugged like there was nothing else needed to say than that. “You just said you don’t lose.”

“I don’t,” Spayar said, turning back around. “But I worry I will.”

“Your sister will be _fine_ ,” Abirid said, “Tallalsala would never hurt her. She needs you.”

“She needs something to look powerful,” Spayar said.

“Yes. But she _needs_ you. My brother hangs around Smoker’s Den a lot, they say Tallalsala will win.”

“They say a lot of things.”

“They say she’ll win because she has a _d’aelar_.”

Spayar looked back at him, “Fools,” he said.

“They don’t know any better,” Abirid said. “But Tallalsala needs you, the people respect your presence. They think your existence means something.”

Spayar sighed, his shoulders drooping, “I know,” he said, “I am well aware of what someone with my title means,” he frowned. Then he got mad again and this time did twist the already ruined sword blade. It made a horrible squealing sound like an animal being slaughtered. Abirid winced and covered his ears. 

There was a knock on the door and Spayar released the sword. He looked at Abirid, “You call a servant?” he asked.

“No,” Abirid said, “it isn’t for me.”

Spayar huffed, “Densinn’s tongue what is it now?” he grumbled and went to get the door. As he passed the bed he tossed his sword on it and Abirid looked at it curiously. Nile was at the door, dripping wet from the rain. “What?” he asked darkly and Nile, for being in his twenties, shrunk away like Spayar was a hissing fire.

“My sis requested yous’ company,” he said carefully.

“Fine,” he looked back at Abirid, “Want to come?”

“To see the Clan? No I— yes, actually,” he changed his mind when Spayar sent him a look that left no argument that Abirid was coming.

“She just said yous, not a friend,” Nile said warily, eyeing Abirid.

“Well your sister does not command me,” Spayar said and went to grab the new rain coat Abirid had brought him. “She fancies me,” he said in a whisper to Abirid as Abirid pulled on his own rain coat.

“Poor thing,” Abirid said, grabbing his umbrella.

“Yes but-“ Nile tried to say.

“Nile,” Spayar said as he and Abirid walked to the door, “your sister is a guest, not my superior. She needs to remember that.” Nile swallowed and Spayar locked his door. Abirid immediately decided to hang off his arm, threading their arms together and when Spayar looked at him Abirid just smiled. Seemed Abirid was taking the part of Spayar’s lover very seriously. Nile stared at them both a second before he took off at a brisk walk. Spayar didn’t feel the need to keep up, he knew where Cati was waiting for him and not like Nile would run off without them.

“So how did you get some clanswoman interested in you?” Abirid asked once Nile was out of ear shot.

“I showed up covered in the blood of my enemies,” Spayar said flatly. Abirid looked at him to make sure he wasn’t joking, “Seriously,” he said.

“You never fail to titillate, don’t you Spayar?”

“If I’m stuck doing this bullshit I might as well be the top of the game,” he said.

“This is true. And _no one_ does it quite as good as you,” and Abirid laid the lovey dovey voice on thick when Nile looked back at them, leaning on him a bit as they walked. “No wonder everyone wants a piece of you.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents, as you know,” and Abirid chuckled. Spayar didn’t doubt Nile was going to tell his sister everything they said anyway. At least Abirid was playing along. Not that Spayar was asking him to do something he didn’t want though.

“Oh you _certainly_ are.”

They’d nearly made it out of the palace by now, Nile kept glancing back at them as they walked. They left the magical rain cover of the palace as they walked to the stables. Abirid opened his umbrella and he and Spayar took cover under it, though Spayar walked half in the rain.

“I don’t know how people live in Assarus full time,” Abirid groused when they entered the stables. “Its so wet. At least Harinfall is dry most of the year.”

“You get used to is.”

“If it wasn’t so hot in Harinfall all the time I’d never leave,” he said as they continued to follow Nile into the stables.

“Poor thing,” Spayar said sarcastically.

They arrived at a stall that had the door open and inside Cati had set up here area with her lions. “Sis, I brought the _d’aelar_ ,” Nile called in.

Cati jumped to her feet, “Really and-“ then she saw Abirid. “Whos yous?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Abirid North,” Abirid said pleasantly and watched Cati grow wary, duchess’ son was nothing to trifle with, especially not a North. 

“What did you need Cati?” Spayar asked.

Cati’s face twisted in dislike a moment, “I had hoped to talk to you. Alone,” and she very pointedly looked at Abirid.

“About?”

“About the Clan,” she said.

“Hmmm,” he looked over at Abirid.

“Oh don’t tell me I have to leave,” Abirid pouted.

“I’m afraid so.”

“And I expect you’ll want me to go home too since we’re already in the stables. Going to send me home in the rain Spay?” and he watched Cati’s cheek twitch.

“Since when have I ever made you do something you didn’t want?” Spayar asked.

“So does that mean I’ll see you back at your room?” he asked slyly.

Spayar sighed internally. He’d guessed one of Abirid’s motives for showing up had been to get Spayar to sleep with him again. Abirid was just like that. He had planned to just tell Abirid to fuck off and go touch himself at home or buy someone to warm his bed, because he didn’t have the time for that. But Abirid had positioned himself expertly to make Spayar have to follow through with this charade he’d started just to make Cati leave him alone. Spayar had to give it to Abirid, the lordling was a lot more clever than Spayar was going to give him credit for.

“Yes,” Spayar said. “I need to talk to Cati, and then I’ll come find you.”

“Maybe I’ll pop over to see the Asuras while I’m at it.”

“Oh that would be _very_ helpful Abirid,” Spayar said.

“Don’t take too long then, you know how I get,” and Spayar just smirked. He made a note to never let Abirid close to him ever again if he could twist something around like this.

“Good things come to those who wait,” Spayar said neatly.

“ _Right_ ,” Abirid said in a long tone. “See you back at your quarters,” and he leaned over and placed a _very_ possessive and claiming kiss on Spayar’s mouth. Note to self, don’t like Abirid get away with anything ever again or he’d milk it for all it was worth. Then he let go and as he left he gave Spayar a wink and even Spayar thought that was laying it on a _bit_ thick.

When he looked over at Cati her eyes were hard and maybe a bit murderous. Well, couldn’t let Abirid wander around near the stables alone by himself ever again with Cati still here. “So what did you need to discuss, Cati?” he asked her, trying to distract her from clearly wanting to make Abirid’s insides his outsides.

She looked at him, still looking pissed, “Tallalsala promised the clans that there would be fighting to be had,” she said, “my mens grow bored. Bored clamsmens are nothing good.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that Cati,” Spayar said, “I’m not the Archon. If you want to go warring you need to speak to him.”

Cati’s lips pulled back in a slight snarl, “Narn knows less than nothing,” she said. “A peacock is all he is,” and Spayar couldn’t disagree.

At least out loud, “He’s been very busy,” Spayar said. “The Conflict is only a few days old Cati. I know your men are bored, but they need to show some patience.”

“Tallalsala lets her siblings run free. She should let _us_ hunt them,” Cati said, narrow eyed.

“Again, something I have no control over-

“Yous are _d'aelar_ are yous not?” she demanded.

“I am,” Spayar said patiently, “But I am not the Archon. I am just his messenger.”

Cati looked again irritably, “Fools,” she muttered. She folded her arms across her chest. Then she glanced at him, “Whos was that?”

“Who?” Spayar asked.

“That man?”

“He introduced himself.”

“Is he yours lover?” she asked.

“Does it matter to you?” he asked, prodding her.

She scowled, “No,” she said harshly. 

“Hmm, is that all Cati? I have other business to get to today.” Cati looked an inch away from saying something stupid but knew where to draw the line. Maybe now she’d leave him alone.

“The other clans have been bothering us,” she said, still sulking, not making eye contact.

“Oh?” Spayar asked, “That I can fix. What have they been doing?”

“They’re jealous wes get to sleep in here, while they attempt to build on the land near the Elfswood,” Cati said, “fools,” she said again. “The spirits in the Elfswood do not take well to intruders. They come up to the stables and more than one has stolen a blanket,” then she growled, “One of thems bleeding Dac’ulls tried to steals one of ours _womens_.”

“…What?” Spayar asked. “Why would they do that?”

“Da’cull don’t allow womens to fight. The Barou and Clevenger are friends with the Dac’ull, so they leave their womens alone. But us Ferek? The Dac’ulls hates us. And their men are bored too.”

“My, that is serious isn’t it?” Spayar said in a low tone.

“Clan have different laws than other feylon,” she continued. “So long as none of the Sins are committed we may do as we wish.” The Sins, the highest crimes in the land. Committing one would get you sent to a table, and you’d live out the rest of your days in misery. There were six of them: treason, incest, pedophilia, slavery, necrophilia and blasphemy. Unfortunately rape had never been added to the list of Sins, but doing so _would_ end in your punishment, through death, humiliation, or otherwise. “They often raid ours camps, sometimes to try and steal ours womens, or young boys.”

“How young?”

“Old enough so it isn’t a Sin,” she hissed. “Our camps are more well guarded than we are here, it happens rarely. But here? They care not and they are bored. They won’t listen to me either because I am womans,” she seemed infuriated by that. “And the other chieftains will do nothing. If they stand up for the Ferek it means they sympathize with us and not the Dac’ulls, and their womens would be in danger.”

“Well,” Spayar said, “That is a problem isn’t it?” she nodded after a moment of hesitating. “They don’t have any of your women now do they?”

“No,” she said, “But Doss said they tried to steal is sister while she slept. Willowtree made sure they didn’t make off with her.”

“Who’s Willowtree?”

“Her panther,” she said.

“Hmm,” and he inhaled, “I see. Is that all Cati?”

“Is that all?” she demanded.

“Well I can’t deal with it standing here talking to you,” he said, and she pulled back.

“Yes,” she nodded, “That’s all.”

“Good. I’ll tell Jill to lock the stable doors at night and tell your tribe to keep their stalls closed. Women should sleep in the same stall as men,” Cati opened her mouth to complain. “I don’t care if its against your culture,” he continued. “Have it be with their brothers, or their friends. I’m going to talk to Jem now but I doubt he’ll take me serious.”

“Then what good are you?” she snapped.

“I warn first and when someone doesn’t do as I say the first time I come back and deal with them,” he said darkly. “Now, is that all?” he asked again.

“Yes,” she said and swallowed.

“Good. Keep your people safe,” and he walked off. He stopped again at the break room but Jill was nowhere to be seen making Spayar frown. He’d find his friend later about it.

He frowned at the rain and thought about how to approach this. There was no blood of his enemies he could smear on his hair, face, or clothes today and he’d left his sword back in his quarters. Spayar could be threatening, but to a big Clansman like Jem? He’d make it work somehow, just like he always did.

Not for the first time in his life when Spayar walked out into the rain he wish he was a water magi. They were so much more useful than metal ones, and he’d be able to keep the rain off with it. Instead he trekked through the rain towards where the other clans had set up and the foundations of a barracks was trying to be built near the Elfswood, though on higher ground. It was useless though. The entire grounds of the Winter Palace was more or less marshland with a high water table and only the palace foundations and gardens were really solid ground, dried out and hardened against rain ages ago by powerful wizards and witches. Maybe even by Sinou himself. For the time being the other clans were living in steeped, cone-like, tents made of hide and painted with animal imagery.

Spayar had mud all the way up his boots and splattering on his knees when he finally got to the camp. No one came out to greet him but he didn’t expect it, everyone was trying to avoid the rain and the mud that ran in rivers along the ground, down the little rise towards the Elfswood below. But he didn’t need anyone to find the tent the chieftain was in. He opened the flap without invitation and found the Clevenger brothers Myst and Ryver, naked and laid out on a raised wooden platform smoking with a mostly naked women between them.

They started when Spayar entered and quickly tried to cover their nudity. “Bleeding sun what the hell?!” Myst cried.

“Where is Jem?” Spayar asked.

“What?”

“Where is Jem?” he asked again, not giving a crap about the either of them.

“Why?”

“Answer the question or I’ll be back to speak with you when I’m done with him,” Spayar said.

The brothers looked between each other, “His tent is the red one, with the black diamonds and stripes,” Ryver said.

“Thank you,” Spayar said and bowed out, leaving them to smoke and fuck or do whatever they had been doing.

He walked through the big Clan camp until he found the big red tent with the black diamonds and as before didn’t bother to announce himself. Jem was in his tent alone, eating and looked up surprised when he saw Spayar.

“ _D’aelar_ ,” he said with a full mouth, sounding confused. He put his down down and swallowed thickly, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“Leave the Ferek alone,” Spayar said.

Jem frowned, “What?”

“You know well _what_ ,” Spayar said. “Cati told me you’ve been stealing from them. Food, supplies, their women-

“The Dac’ull have not touched one of their womens,” Jem snapped and jumped to his feet. “That bitch makes broad claims.”

“So the food and supplies are true?” Jem hesitated. “Oh, so they _are_ ,” and Jem looked down. “This is your warning Jem; leave the Ferek alone. If I hear that you’ve stolen again you’ll be hearing from me again. This is exactly why the Ferek get to sleep in the dry stables and you’re out here building yourself a place to sleep, and this isn’t even a punishment. Disobey again and the consequences will be great, this isn’t the Yellow Hills, in Assarus you obey our laws.” Jem glared at him but said nothing. “Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes,” Jem practically spat.

“Good. Hopefully the next time we meet it’ll be me telling you who you’re going to fight, and not me having to come and twist your balls for being a prick,” he said calmly. Jem said nothing and the man knew he could do nothing. Spayar’s word was as good as law. “Good day Jem, keep dry,” and he left, walking back out into the rain without even a second of thought.

On the walk back to the palace he thought that went rather well. Maybe not covered in the blood of his enemies well but only a crazy man went into a Meltong thunderstorm to threaten some Clan chieftain. Hopefully he wouldn’t hear any more of this and the Dac’ull would leave the Ferek alone.

—

A messenger in waterproof, blue, livery, was waiting for Spayar outside his quarters. They were dripping slightly and was looking through the satchel at their hip for the message. Spayar waited behind them a moment to see what they’d do, and hoped they weren’t someone sent to spy on him by Tallalsala or Narn. He was quite done with that. After a moment of thumbing through envelopes they found the one they wanted and yanked it out and knocked on Spayar’s door.

“I’m right here,” he announced, making them jump and twist around.

“Oh, sir, you scared me,” she said, hand up to her breast.

He smiled nicely, “Sorry. I’m Spayar Hillsman, you have a message?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Two actually, they just came in with the mail,” and she handed him two envelopes. Both were stamped from different cities. One was from Gorum and Spayar’s heart ached, the other was from the city of Akiro’  in LoHanJo’in. Odd, he didn’t know anyone in Akiro’.

“Has anyone seen these?” he asked.

She looked confused a moment, “They came straight from the post yesterday,” she said.

“Who touched them before me?” he asked.

“Uh… the sorters,” she said, “and obviously the flighters who carried them.”

“No one else?”

“And me, sir,” she said, she clearly wanted to leave now.

“You know anyone named Narn?” he asked.

“No, sir,” she said and swallowed. She looked so uncomfortable, not like how a liar would though.

He relaxed, “Thank you,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out his purse and handed her a golden atrin, “I didn’t ask you these questions,” he said, “and you never had any messages for me.”

“I’ve never seen you,” she assured him, tested the big golden coin to make sure it was real and then pocketed it, smiling. “Glad not to see you, sir,” and he nodded. She darted off around him. Spayar watched her go before going into his room, which was sans Abirid. For now at least.

Spayar removed most of his wet clothes before sitting on his bed and ripped opened the Gorum envelope. It was in his mother’s flowing dirnine calligraphy and he frowned. Why was she writing to him in a language he hadn’t spoken in five years and hadn’t read in more? The answer was obvious enough; there weren’t a lot of Dirinnans in the Alliance, and as the country was still having a cold, civil, war they had no ambassador to send to the Alliance, or palace the Alliance could send one too. There wasn’t anyone to translate the dirnine, meaning it was perfectly safe to read. Except he could barely read it. He hadn’t had dirnine lessons from his parents since he was a young preteen. He could speak it he supposed, because he could understand it when he listened to it.

The problem of course was in that he forgot a good amount of the dirnine letters. Fabulous. This letter was useless to him. He did recognize some words at the bottom that said ‘we love and miss you mama, papa’ and then Anora and Duren’s names. He sighed tiredly and put the letter back in the envelope. He folded it and went and put it in the lining of his new rain coat.

The next letter from Akiro’ was in fact two letters, one from Mali, the other from Tassa.

_Spayar,_

_I’m sorry Spayar, I have only bad news to give you. News of the Conflict has only just reached LoHanJo’in, and the Shade have closed themselves in even more. No one is getting in or out of DisAdo and the border is on lock down. DiSol says they are joining no side, let alone Vondugard’s. At least to the Under Lords’ faces. They want nothing to do with this war but DiSol assures me that if I come through, he will make sure the Shade align with Vondugard._

_The Under Lords of the Shade are spoiling for the death of the Shadow Lord since CoLan isn’t here. DiSol isn’t an heir, he can only do so much. I’m doing everything I can to heal the Shadow Lord and make him well. The sickness hasn’t been contracted by anyone else, so I was right, it is magical in nature. Tassa and I have been working well together. I know, get that smug look off your face before Tassa’s head explodes from your approval._

_That’s all the news I have Spayar, I don’t know what condition this letter receives you in. Hopefully you’re still in Assarus. We’ve heard no news of Vondugard though the flighter of DisAdo says he heard that Surassa is fortifying itself for Virilia’s arrival in a few days. I’m sorry I’m not more helpful. Write me if you’re still in Assarus and if its safe to send messages. If you don’t I won’t send others._

_Mali_

Mali’s letter for some reason made Spayar smile. Tassa’s letter was much shorter and sealed with a tiny weave of magic. When Spayar saw the letter he realized it was so _Mali_ herself couldn’t open it. He doubted Mali wanted him to know what Tassa had written.

_Mali contracted the Shadow Lord’s malady. She’s dying. The mage responsible reweaves the disease every night, it makes it impossible for me to track down and unweave entirely._

_I’m doing what I can, we both are. Hopefully we’ll find this asshole who’s poisoning our friend and the Shadow Lord before spring, or neither of them will see the thaw._

_Don’t tell Mali I care so much._

_Love,_

_Tassa_

Spayar frowned deeply, that was very concerning, but he knew not to reply, not until he was somewhere safe. He took both of their letters to the candelabra, because thankfully Virilia didn’t like the alchemical lights so they still used candles in the Palaces for the most part, and set them both on fire. He watched them burn before throwing the scraps out the window and into the rain.

He settled back onto the bed when there was a knock and he was too tired to answer it. “Enter,” he called.

Abirid opened the door and seeing it was no one important Spayar finally took off his muddy boots. “Back I see.” Abirid came into the room, not at all wet and looking pleased with himself.

“I was busy,” Spayar said and undid the belt holding his pants up.

“Is that Clan woman going to leave you alone?”

“I think so,” and he kicked his pants off.

“I spoke with Tallalsala,” Abirid continued, “she seemed quite surprised when I told her I was your lover. I think she was under the impression you were just using me.”

Spayar looked over at Abirid as pulled out clean clothes for dinner, “Don’t get me wrong Abirid. You’re not a terrible lay, but I am just using you.”

Abirid scowled, “You don’t have to be quite so pleased with yourself.” Spayar chuckled under his breath and looked away, laying what he was going to wear out on the bed. “Anyway, I informed her that I also know she wants to be allies with the Norths. I said if you dress bad it looks bad on me, and nothing can look bad for the Norths. She didn’t make a fuss when I insisted on a change in your wardrobe,” he left Abirid come up behind him. “You got your new coat all muddy,” he said and tugged it off Spayar’s shoulders.

Spayar turned and slipped away from him, “Not today Abirid. Go home.”

“What?” the noble asked, holding Spayar’s sodden coat.

“I just received some… not so fantastic news about a friend and I’m _really_ not in the mood for games.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re dying,” Spayar said, “How, or why you don’t need to know. But can’t play with you today,” he pushed his hair back. “Day’s not over yet either. I have dinner with Tallalsala and her advisors, that’ll be fun,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry,” Abirid said.

“Are you really?” Spayar sneered.

“No one likes when Lemp calls,” Abirid said. “So yes, I am sorry.”

“I need you to leave now.”

“Spayar-

“Abirid,” Spayar said sharply, “I don’t have time for games, or your wants. I am in the middle of bullshit and I can’t _focus_ when some lordling who doesn’t understand the stakes is buzzing around trying to get into my pants. At the party you wanted me to trust you with information. Well I have, you’re officially a part of this.”

“I never-

“You traded with me, what you wanted for what I wanted. You’re part of the game now. And I can’t be distracted from my next move when my life is on the line here. Now please leave, before I remove you.”

Abirid looked down, chastened, then he looked back up, “I am just trying to help,” he said.

“I know. Please leave,” he hesitated and hated that he gave a shit that Abirid looked genuinely upset. Abirid had always been one of Von’s satellite friends, someone around but never in the know that Von was friends with more out of who his mother was than anything else. Spayar had a feeling Abirid knew well why people were friends with him, even as a third son. “I’ll call you when I need to see you,” he added because he needed an ally here, and honestly Abirid wasn’t that bad. He was sort of a prick sometimes, but he genuinely did seem to want Spayar to live.

Abirid perked up a bit. “Okay, I guess,” he sighed like he didn’t care. “If I catch you wear those hideous things Tallalsala told you to wear, well-

“Well what?” Spayar asked, raising his eyebrows.

“We will have words,” Abirid sort of threatened and Spayar gave a dry chuckle.

Before Abirid could leave though Spayar grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him against his chest. “Don’t forget what I said to tell your mother,” he said seriously.

“She won’t be happy.”

“Duchesses rarely are. Make her see reason for me,” and he slid his arm around Abirid’s waist.

“I thought you said you don’t have time for games,” Abirid said, tapping Spayar’s chest idly.

“I can multitask,” Spayar smirked, “if I get good news at least.”

“I’ll make her see reason,” Abirid promised.

“Good,” and Spayar kissed him, and not like the one Abirid had given him in front of Cati. Sometimes Spayar hated himself for so easily using people, manipulating them to do what he wanted. This wasn’t some harsh, claiming, kiss, but a sweet I need you kiss that was completely unfair to Abirid. But Abirid was like Tallalsala, he believed what he wanted to believe. Spayar let Abirid go and the lordling breathed out slowly.

“Who the hell taught you to do that?” Abirid asked.

“What? You think you’re the first boy I’ve kissed?” Spayar teased.

Abirid shook himself a little, “Alright, I should go then,” he said. Spayar nodded and let him go, “Send a messenger if you need me,” and he slipped away.

“Make sure to come back when you know what she says,” Spayar said, Abirid nodded and left, seeming sort of flustered even as he closed the door behind him. Spayar sighed, “You need to stop doing that,” he told himself, “and stop sleeping with people to get what you want what is the matter with you?” and he smacked himself on the cheek a little. First Cole, and now Abirid, he was a regular Peony at this point, would sleep with anything to further himself. Well at least he wasn’t busy killing members of his family to do so like the Le’Acards. So that was something anyway.

Spayar stood there for another minute or so before getting his head together. He still had to get ready for dinner and he was dripping wet from the rain and wasn’t a little bit chilly. He went and turned on the water in the bathroom and took a long, hot, bath doing his best to think of nothing. He wanted just an hour, to himself, to relax and try and forget, even for a moment, about what he was doing, and what he’d have to do in the future. He ended up dozing a bit and when he got out of the bath his lips felt tingly and hot, like someone had pierced them. 


	29. Heart's Stain

Mali’s confession was met by Tassa’s brief silence. “ _You_ want me to steal something?” Tassa asked, shocked.

“Yes,” Mali nodded.

Tassa rubbed her ear as it to make sure they were still working. “Little Miss By-the-Book wants to use unsavory methods?” Tassa asked, looking at Mali with raised brows.

“Don’t look so proud of yourself,” Mali snapped. “I need to look at the books of an apothecary and I have no way to.”

“Just get your little boyfriend to help you- Hey!” Tassa yelped when Mali raised her hand at Tassa, fingers slightly flared and directly manipulated her body. Mali knew her tempers came swift and as a mage, who controlled their magic directly through their emotions, it allowed her control in an instant. As a blood healer all she had to do was extend her power into someone’s body and she could control them for a short time. Enough time to make Tassa pinch herself. And there was no weave, so Tassa had no way to snap it.

Instead she just slapped Mali across the face. “Do _not_ ,” Tassa growled.

“Show some respect,” Mali glared back.

Tassa folded her arms across her chest and even in the leathers she managed to make her breasts look bigger. Mali fucking hated her. “Well? There a reason you don’t want to just ask DiSol?” she asked snidely, staring down her nose at Mali.

“He’s got enough to worry about. I don’t want him to know what I’m doing either. I think the one poisoning the Shadow Lord is… close to DiSol, though I don’t know who. They might change tactics if they knew what I was doing.”

“Fine. So what are we doing?”

“I need you to steal a key,” Mali said, “and you’re still not terrible at forgery right?”

Tassa shrugged, “I can do it. You need a fake key?” Mali nodded. “I could just pick the lock.”

“This is the _Shade_ Tassa. I don’t think you could pick their locks.”

“I could so,” Tassa insisted.

“Then go pick my bedroom,” Mali said. Tassa scowled at her a minute before stomping off and coming back with her picks. She knelt in front of Mali’s door and inserted a few of the pins. Lock picking was completely out of Mali’s realm of understanding. But she did understand when Tassa stood up, defeated. “Told you,” she said as Tassa took her picks from the lock.

“They melted my rake,” she said showing Mali one that was more like a glob now.

“Oh dear,” Mali said sarcastically.

“Shut up Mali,” Tassa growled and then there was a knock on their door. A moment later a lonth came in pushing a silver cart with food on it. “Oh, thank you,” she said.

“DiSol-sai says he’s sorry he had to leave on such short notice,” the lonth said.

“Its fine,” Mali said. “Thank you.” The lonth nodded and left, Tassa wheeled the cart over to the chairs, taking the lid off the platter.

“Oh,” Tassa said, looking down at the tray.

“That looks like a threat to me,” Mali said blandly. It was jellied blood with a green doll made of  herbs stuck head first into it.

“How _delightful_ ,” Tassa said. “Lets not worry about this,” she put the lid back on the platter and Mali watched in amusement when Tassa froze the entire thing into a block of ice. “Oh dear, did _I_ do that?” Tassa asked.

“Let me test the rest before you eat,” Mali said and stood up, her vision swimming a little. Everything hurt. Tassa waited while Mali touched each piece of food, mouthing the words to herself. Nothing happened, until she got to some sausages which when she touched them turned an ugly black color. “Save those,” she said and Tassa froze those as well to preserve them in their exact state.

“The rest is good?”

“Yes,” Mali nodded, “lets eat,” and they both took a plate and ate breakfast in silence.

—

By now Mali knew her way around DisAdo rather well, at the very least she knew how to get back to DiSol’s room when she went wandering. She couldn’t leave the main compound because she didn’t know the spell that opened the arcane gates that led out into the roads between buildings, but that was more than enough to get her where she needed to go. Like now she was taking Tassa to apothecary where Haver'in worked, because she’d been here a few times and everything taken out of the apothecary or made was written down. Haver'in wouldn’t let her see the book though, and she wasn’t sweet enough to him for him to trust her and Mali didn’t want DiSol to know. He was already stressed out enough, no need to add more to that.

Which was of course where Tassa came in. She was an accomplished thief and a fair hand at forgery and an absolute flirt. Tassa would get the book one way or another.

On the way to the apothecary Mali did get a few brief looks but unlike before there were no sneers or questions as to what she was doing here. And of course that seemed to be Tassa’s doing since she _looked_ like a lonth. Sure maybe she wasn’t but her fitted black silks and leather were enough to pass a brief glance in their direction. “I must admit, Tassa,” Mali teased, “you do have your uses.”

Tassa rolled her eyes, “Just because I understand the games of houses doesn’t make me useless.”

“You’re a Hau-

Tassa flicked her ear, “I am Peony,” she said and Mali rolled her eyes. Whatever.

“This is it,” they’d arrived at Haver’in’s apothecary. Malik opened the door. Haver'in was as he usually was, bend over the long legged table, working on something. Today he was grinding something into a fine powder with a metal mortar and pestle. Mali didn’t know a ton about how poisons worked but she knew that metals were non reactants and also didn’t collect residue like ceramic mortars might.

Haver'in looked up when they entered, “Ah, hello Mali,” he said. “Can’t have the book I’m afraid.”

“I don’t want the book. I just came to look around,” Mali said.

“Ah,” Haver'in looked over her shoulder, “Who’s your friend?”

“My friend,” Mali said.

“Tassa Peony,” Tassa said and entered the apothecary. Haver’in’s eyes were glued to Tassa while she walked and Mali refrained from another eye roll. Men were such predictable creatures. Tassa would get her that key. “Such a pleasure Haver’in, Mali told me you’re a master of potions,” and she leaned on the table while Mali appeared to be looking around at everything.

“Mali’s very generous,” Haver'in said as Mali went to the tall and narrow bookshelf and selected one at random.

“Aren’t you though?” Tassa asked.

“I suppose I am,” Mali opened the slim volume, it was filled with realistic drawings of bones and how the muscles worked under the skin. It amused her for several minutes while she ignored Haver'in and Tassa’s flirting (it was probably gross anyway) and she couldn’t shake the feeling the drawings were familiar. She turned back to the front and made an ‘ah’ sound. “Find something over there?” Haver'in called. Mali turned around and looked at the two of them. Tassa had slid closer to Haver'in now, angling her body to appear evocative at his angle, to draw his eyes and perhaps his hands to her supple curves.

“Just a book of anatomy,” she said with a shrug. “Drawn by Per Rosalia, we used one he made in a class I took.”

Haver'in relaxed slightly, “Yes. We have many books written by High Necromongers in DisAdo. They’re very enlightening.”

“Really now?” Mali asked.

“Can’t create a poison without knowing how certain things effect the body,” Haver'in said.

“Do the necromongers test them for you?” Tassa asked and Mali didn’t know if she was honestly curious or justly pretending.

“Yes. Their tables get priority over ours,” Mali shivered a little, “and won’t find a better interrogator in the entire Alliance than a necromonger. More convenient if they just do it for us.”

“That’s nice of them,” Tassa said, pulling Haver’in’s attention back to her. Mali returned to looking at the books and the powders and potions and poisons. She mentally indexed as much as she could and still there was no Lemp’s Kiss on the shelf, but she didn’t know if Haver'in had made any more either. “Mali, darling,” Tassa called a few minutes later and she looked behind her. Haver'in looked extremely sullen. “Are you done looking?”

“Yes, I am honey,” Mali just played along. Tassa went over to her and looped her arm through Mali’s and without asking basically dragged her out of the apothecary. “What are you up to?”

“I told him I was a lesbian,” she said.

“After flirting with him?”

Tassa gave Mali a look, “Well that I was _mostly_ a lesbian,” and Mali nodded  since that made more sense. 

“Did you get it?”

“No-

“Tassa-

“I got this though,” she held up a piece of clay that was hard to the touch. Imprinted in the clay was the shape of a key.

“How did you- _where_ did you get that clay?”

“I brought it,” Tassa said shrugging, “you said to come prepared in your letter so I just brought everything I thought I’d need.” Tassa tucked the clay mold into her bra for safe keeping, “Now all that needs doing is getting a copy.”

Mali nodded and as they walked back to DiSol’s chambers a man passed them, and did a double take as he did so to the point he ran into someone behind him. The two of them paused while the man was harshly reprimanded by a female lonth and he bowed several times speaking in Jhasta, clearly asking for forgiveness. Once the woman seemed satisfied to have chewed him out enough she marched off, Mali and Tassa gave her room in the hallway.

The man was rubbing his face and then stole a look towards them. He was an odd lonth, blonde hair, blue eyes, though his skin was the same color as DiSol’s was. Mali’s brows went up questioningly. “Need something?” Tassa asked in a mean way.

“Ah— no, excuse me,” and he quickly saw himself down the hall.

“Weirdo,” Tassa said. “C’mon,” and she followed Mali back to DiSol’s quarters. “So what are we going to do to get this key?” Tassa asked once they were safe inside. Mali was grateful when she could sit down, she was exhausted and felt dehydrated.

“We need to make a copy, somehow.”

“When I held the key I felt it was also magicked,” Tassa said.

Mali sighed, “It was?”

“Yes. I didn’t hold it long enough to really tell with what, but on the way out I tested the key hole.”

“Ahg,” Mali groaned, “the key and hole are linked aren’t they?” Tassa nodded. “Can you recreate the weave on it?”

“I don’t know,” Tassa admitted. “I think it might be lonth magic.”

“Try?”

“I will,” Tassa promised. “But we still need to create the copy,” she winced and dug around in her cleavage and pulled out the clay mold. Mali took it when Tassa handed it to her. “What’s here?” she pointed at the end, which wasn’t a hole where you’d expect the hole for the keyring to be.

“It felt like a jewel,” Tassa said, “probably to hold the weave,” Mali nodded, metal did not hold magic well. Supposedly smith mages were the only sort of mages that could make metal hold a weave longer than a day. 

“I have one we can use,” Mali said.

“But the material. We need molten metal.”

“Not… necessarily,” Mali said slowly. “We could make it from our element.”

“Ice can’t hold a shape strong enough to be useful to us,” Tassa said. “For all its strength it is a fragile element.”

Mali didn’t disagree, like most inert elements ice was both destructive, hard to control, and didn’t hold magic well, it was also prone to splintering. It was amid the same class as metal, earth, lightning, wood and rock. Some of the most powerful elements were inert elements, but unlike the vital elements they were easily broken with the right force. After all it was hard to destroy things that had no real form like fire, wind, water, or light.

“I meant my element,” Mali said. Bone was part of the vital elements, for all that it was unmoving like most of the inert ones. But unlike the other bone was _alive_.

“Mali you can’t be serious,” Tassa said.

“I’m completely serious.”

“Then who’s bone will you use? Yours? Out of the question. I’d tell DiSol. That’s even _if_ you can manipulate bone like that in the first place! No one can do that sort of thing with bone.”

“There are some,” Mali said. The problem with bone was that is was an element of healing. Offensive bone magic was almost unheard of and the manipulation of bone was extremely difficult. Healers like Mali were very rare because bone elements did not just spring up. It was like the gods themselves knew that the gross manipulation of the skeleton was wrong. Except sometimes souls like Mali slipped through. She was a strong healer, and among bone setters was gifted. But most of her knowledge lay in _setting_ and repairing bones. Not in shaping them. She knew it was possible though, one of her teachers had been an incredibly strong blood magi and she’d taken the femur of a man and crafted it into a flute that had the most haunting sound. And all she’d done to do it was trace where she’d wanted the bone to expand or contract or even break away.

“But in your condition?”

“I’m fine,” Mali snapped. “I’m not dead. I’m letting this stupid sickness run so I know how to combat it.”

“And do you know how?” Tassa asked.

“Not yet,” Mali swallowed. “But I will. And I _need_ that book.”

“How do you even know that that book will have what you need? Aren’t there other apothecaries?”

“Yes. But that is the main one. All records are kept in there. If I can get into it and read the book I hopefully will be able to find whatever poison is being used. Even private apothecaries have to record what poisons they make and report it.”

“You think they’re that stupid to report their own poisoning?”

“They could be sending it away,” Mali said. “Wyrms can make it to and from the Garden in two days. They could be ‘testing’ a poison using the necromongers.”

“But are really poisoning the Shadow Lord,” Tassa said slowly, understanding. Mali nodded. She grabbed her elbows and her brow furrowed.

“What?” she asked Tassa.

“This is really such a big deal, isn’t it, Mali?” she asked. “When Spay asked me to come I didn’t want to and he asked me to so nicely. I thought it was stupid. But this is for real isn’t it? This is a conspiracy for a coup.”

“That’s what I fear, yes,” Mali said.

Tassa sat in the chair next to her. “Not that I don’t trust you,” she looked at Mali, “but I wish Spayar was here.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s always got it under control? Honestly who doesn’t feel better when the _d'aelar_ is around?”

“He’s worrying about his own coup.”

“Hmm?”

“You haven’t heard about the unrest in Assarus? They say the next Feytol Conflict is looming.”

Tassa’s mouth went tight, “I honestly don’t pay too much attention to the Le’Acard,” Tassa said.

“So you haven’t seen the growing famine?”

“Mali,” Tassa said, “I’m a Peony. I might live in Cat’s Cradle with a bunch of filth and thieves, but only because I want to. I could walk right up to South Side and live in my father’s house any time I wanted. Things like a ‘famine’ do not effect those at the top,” and Mali glared at her, though Tassa wasn’t wrong either. Food sold in D’lingar were going up in price slowly. Sure only a copper or two but she’d seen things go up an entire bronze or, in some extreme cases, a silver.

“But you live in Cat’s Cradle,” she said.

“I’m a thief,” Tassa said, “I always have enough money.”

Mali looked away, irritated with her. “I’m going to make the key out of bone,” she said, “and then we’re getting into that apothecary and I’m looking at that book.”

“Who’s bone are you going to use?” Tassa asked.

“I don’t know,” Mali said softly.

“You’ll figure something out, bunny, you always do,” and it was one of the few times the nickname wasn’t an insult.

“I better,” Mali said, “otherwise the Shade will secede and we’re screwed.”

—

DiSol didn’t come back till much later in the day. It was nearly dark actually, or so Mali assumed by the clock over the fireplace, when DiSol returned. His Shroud was sharp and angular like pieces of broken glass, the planes smooth but edges jagged. He was pissed. Mali looked away from the game of Bastin, which she and Tassa were only paying partial attention to when DiSol came in, opening and closing the door softly.

“DiSol,” Mali said, “how was your meeting?”

“Could have been better,” he said in a tight tone. “Forgive me ladies I will be retiring early,” and he slipped into his room without another word.

Tassa looked over at Mali, “He’s in a state. Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“He clearly wants to be alone,” Mali said.

“Bunny, you know _nothing_ about men,” Tassa said.

“I know enough that you call me bunny,” Mali said.

Tassa eyed her a moment, “That was a good one. You should have used it sooner.”

“Thank you,” Mali said smugly.

“But shouldn’t you ask him about what you need? The sooner we can do this the less time we’ll have to be here.”

Mali frowned but knew Tassa was right. “Alright,” and she heaved herself up from the chair. She held her hand out for Tassa to stay put when she swayed a little and Tassa made to stand. She waited for the world to stop spinning before going over to DiSol’s room and knocking gently. No answer, she knocked again, “DiSol, I need to talk to you,” she called.

Mali looked back at Tassa when the door still didn’t open, Tassa waved her hand at her to try again. She went to knock again when the door opened a bit. “Sorry Mali can it wait?” DiSol asked, just poking his head out a bit. Mali couldn’t believe him at all. He was a grown man and acting like a scolded child after that meeting.

“Not really,” she said.

He sighed a little, “One moment,” and closed the door.

“Door dear,” Tassa said sarcastically, “You should make him feel better.”

“Can you get your head out of the toilet for a moment?” Mali rolled her eyes at Tassa. “It isn’t like that.”

“Sure it isn’t,” Tassa said as the door opened.

“Come in,” DiSol said, beckoning her inside.

Mali had never been in DiSol’s room. It was not what she expected. Most of DisAdo was clean and organized and things were simple. Even someplace like an apothecary was minimal. DiSol’s room was extremely large and nearly two rooms and while was not cluttered was _full_. Book shelves lined half the walls, filled with books of all shapes, sizes, and thicknesses, and what wasn’t given to books were covered in trinkets and little statues and bibs and bobs and animal bones as well as dead things in jars or pinned to boards for display.  The only empty wall wasn’t empty really, but it had more open space on it so Mali could actually see that the walls were painted a robin’s egg blue. That forth wall was covered in gear. Armor of the leather, chain, and plate variety decorated several mannequins, and weapons of all varieties dominated the wall. Swords, spears, pole arms, knives, maces, morning stars, and more she didn’t know the names of, all hung up like tools in a carpenter’s shed. There was a large bed against one wall and a half wall divided the great room in two between ‘bedroom’ and work room. A large table in the work area was positively _covered_ in all sorts of things. Glass phials, mortar and pestle, small grinding wheels, a set of scales, several knives and a few glass jars filled with what looked like spiders and snakes. At least half a dozen books littered the table and several foot high stacks of books and papers circled it. Most of the stacks were crowned by something of some sort, a plate or a bushel of herbs or yet another glass tank with what looked like frogs though they were no type Mali had ever seen and were brightly colored in reds and blues with vibrant yellow spots.

Mali was in love. It reminded her of her advisor’s workroom back in D’lingar and she hoped one day she could have such a workroom for her research and hobbies. She was so taken with the room that she forgot DiSol was there a moment, then she focused back on him. He’d stripped off his normal clothes, leathers and deep black cape with high, sharp, boots, for a simple tight black shirt and loose trousers. She’d never seen him in something so casual it was like seeing him naked.

“What is it?” he asked, though didn’t sound annoyed she’d bothered him.

“Tassa and I were discussing ways to help your father,” she said, she and Tassa had been coming up with the lie all day. Mali was a terrible liar, even she knew that, but Tassa had been coaching her on how to be better.

“Really?” and his black eyes lit up with hope.

“Yes. Its complex magic though, even for us. The procedure could injure your father further without proper prep work.”

“What do you need? Just say the word.”

She smiled a little, “Well I am a bone healer. I can work magic into a bone and then transfer the magicks into my patient.”

“So you need some?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“What kind?” he asked.

“Thick pieces. A leg bone or a piece of a spine.”

“Does it have to be human?”

She actually had to think about that, caught up in her own lie. “No,” she said after a moment.

“A moment then,” and he went to a chest half hidden by the table and bent over to rummage around in it. Mali leaned over a bit, around the table looking at him then caught herself. Tassa had only been here a few days and was already rubbing off on her. Laden, god of mending, have mercy. DiSol found what he was looking for and then stood up, holding a bone as long as his entire arm. “Will this work?” he asked, showing it to her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The leg femur of a pack tiger,” he said.

“Its a bit big,” she said.

“Hmm, you’re right,” he frowned then put it back and looked some more. “How’s this?” he asked, half bent over, holding up what looked like a spinal disc. Only it was as big as his hand.

“Pack tiger?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“It’ll do,” she said and he closed the trunk and gave it to her. “Why do you have a pack tiger skeleton in your room?” she asked curiously.

“It was part of my ceremony to become a Shade,” he said.

“What?”

“Only the strongest of Shade children may become heirs. My brother is heir apparent because of his baptism.”

“And it includes killing a pack tiger?” she asked. Pack tigers were the largest of the great cats in the south. They lives in Kas’sca mostly and were nearly the size of horses and changed color depending on the season. A russet with jet black stripes during the summer, and white with dark grey stripes during the winter. They were the tundra’s apex predators and their main diet was seals, elk, bears, and anything they could catch.

“Its one of the qualifications, yes,” DiSol said. “To become an heir to the Seat of Shadows one must kill a pack tiger, a polar bear, and a leopard seal,” and Mali paled. The three most dangerous animals in the south, especially since leopard seals were only found on the peninsula of Densinn’s Tongue, deep him Kas’sca.

“You killed those thing?” she squeaked.

He shook his head, “No,” he said, “the tiger and bear yes. But my father fell ill before I could go seal hunting this winter like I’d planned to,” he said sort of wistfully.

“You will though,” Mali said.

DiSol nodded, “My father needs a second, proper, heir since my brother is useless past himself.”

“What?” Mali asked.

“My brother doesn’t fine women interesting,” he chuckled all the sudden, “I believe he’s still a virgin actually. Too busy being horrible to be gentle,” and for some reason that made Mali flush. Maybe it was DiSol’s tone. “Is that all Mali?” he asked when she said nothing.

“Yes, thank you,” she said.

“My pleasure. Hopefully this will make my father well again,” and he gently guided her back towards the door.

“We can only hope, though understand it might not work,” Mali said as he opened the door for her. “Sometimes these things don’t take.”

He looked down a moment, then back up at her, “I have faith you’ll figure it out,” he said. “Spayar doesn’t seem like a man to send people if he doesn’t know they’ll do as he promises.”

“Right,” Mali said. “Goodnight, DiSol.”

“Goodnight Mali,” and he smiled at her and closed the door. All the air rushed out of Mali at once.

“So you get it?” Tassa asked.

“I did,” she held up the spinal disc.

“You kiss him better?”

“Tassa!” she cried and Tassa laughed. “It isn’t like that!” Tassa just laughed harder, clutching her side and nearly falling off the couch. “Uhg you’re impossible!”

DiSol’s door opened again, “Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mali said hotly, annoyed at the both of them now. DiSol shrunk back a bit at her flared anger. “Just Tassa,” and she went over to Tassa and slapped her hand over the other woman’s mouth. DiSol looked at the both of them, especially since Tassa would _not_ stop laughing, rose his brows at them a moment and then retreated back into his room. “You are so embarrassing,” Mali hissed at Tassa.

Tassa yanked Mali’s hand away, “Oh don’t be so mad bunny,” she teased. Then she sat up and grabbed the clay mold. “Now, we should do this.”

“Isn’t it better to do it when its dark?”

“Yes, but I still need to see if I can recreate the weave.”

“Right,” Mali said and sat heavily and took the bone and the mold in her lap.

What she wanted to do wasn’t impossible, but it was very high level magic. Bone did not like being made into different shapes. It was as hard and rigid as metal and most people considered it an inert vital element because of its stubbornness. It made for an _excellent_ healer though, but sadly a useless mage otherwise. 

Mali could feel her entire body, and could feel whatever magic disease in her effecting her all the way down to her bones. But she focused on the disc, finding the emotion she usually called upon when she needed to do healing work or use her element. It was the easiest one for her to call up: anger. Like all mages healers used their emotions to power their abilities, and the stronger the emotions, the more you could do. Mali could be short tempered, but she’d learned to turn it on and off like a faucet.

As a child she’d been much heavier, the kids at school called her Doughy and she’d _hated_ that name. It brought her nothing but anger and shame when she thought about it so whenever she needed that anger all she had to do was remember Doughy. She felt the bone in her hand warm, the cells in it come alive once more. Bones, however, were fickle, and she wasn’t nearly emotional enough for this sort of work.

She stopped, “What’s the matter?” Tassa asked, sensing her magic fading.

“I’m not emotional enough to shape bone,” Mali said, “I can feel it getting ready, so I know I’m strong enough.”

“Can’t get over the hill?” Tassa asked. Mali nodded. “What emotion do you normally use?”

“Anger,” Mali said.

Tassa nodded, “I use that too. Its very good when you need your element quickly,” she got up off the couch and went to sit on the arm of Mali’s chair. “But I’ve found its not the best when you have important work to do like this,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Mhm, especially when using an inert element,” and Mali didn’t argue that bone wasn’t one. It basically was.

“What do you do then?” Mali asked.

“Desire and love are much stronger emotions,” Tassa said.

Mali frowned, “Well not all of us can be in love with our childhood friend, Tassa,” she said.

“No,” Tassa agreed and toyed with some of Mali’s brown hair. “But we both know you have desire,” her voice dropped in volume and tone. “Like DiSol-

“I do not,” Mali insisted.

“So then you wouldn’t like him doing this?” Tassa asked, still playing with Mali’s hair. “Or you haven’t thought you love watching him walk away?” Mali had no come back for that. “How about how his hand would feel on your neck,” and the back of Tassa’s knuckles brushed against Mali’s neck and she swallowed.

“I assure you I haven’t,” Mali said.

“Well maybe you should,” Tassa said sultrily, mouth close to Mali’s ear. “I’m sure his hands are rough and feel so good on soft skin,” Mali face, neck and ears had turned completely pink by now. “Or at least different from those boys back home who are soft and stupid with dumb meaty hands who don’t know a thing about pleasuring a woman. A noble surely knows how to please a woman, hmm? And he’s such a gentleman he’d make sure you got yours before he took his. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Mali said, voice cracking, “Never thought of it.”

“Such a shame. He’s handsome though isn’t he?”

“I suppose,” Mali said swallowing, her ears burning, especially with Tassa whispering into one, her lips sometimes brushing against the shell of her ear.

“You know under all those layers he’s muscular. Abs and arms and a tight ass. And these Black Foot are hairless they say. I dunno, never slept with one, you should go find out.”

“That’s incredibly improper,” Mali said.

“Only improper thing would be is if you came onto you and he didn’t say yes,” Tassa said silkily, her hands on Mali’s hands. “And DiSol looks like a man who’s never missed a meal in his life,” and Mali’s face was now so hot and red she could have cooked an egg on it. Tassa pressed down on her thumb and she felt something shift.

“And there you go,” Tassa said and then picked the bone out of Mali’s lap and showed her the underside. There was the impression of the key.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Mali said, trying to collect herself.

Tassa just beamed at her. “Just fuck, him you’ll feel better,” Tassa said.

“Uhg,” and Mali shoved Tassa off the arm of the chair so she landed on her backside with a thud. She ran her thumb across the key, using that anger to cut into the bone and removed the perfect replica  “Okay, we have the key,” she said.

“Now the gem, and the weave,” Tassa said.

“Can you even replicate it?”

“I don’t know,” Tassa said. “I do have an idea though. Where’s the gem, I’ll get it?”

“In my bag, the front pocket,” she said. Tassa got up and went to Mali’s room. While she was in there dinner came. The lonth knocked on DiSol’s door and there was no answer, they walked right in to give the lord his meal. They were leaving as Tassa came out of Mali’s room. “Find it?” she asked Tassa.

“Why do you need so many focus stones?” Tassa asked even as she inspected a uncut green emerald.

“Don’t steal them,” Mali said.

“I wouldn’t,” Tassa said, “focus stones don’t sell for much. More prone to have flaws and be uncut anyway,” she handed the uncut emerald to Mali and she fit it into the hole of the key at the back. She coaxed the bone to fuse with the key, locking it in place.

“Will you be able to work with an emerald?” Mali asked. Emeralds were the best healing foci you could get and the structure held them the orderly healing weaves extremely well. Sapphires held elemental currents the best and rubies held them the longest. But for healers emeralds were the only things that mattered. By its nature though magic was wild and the structure of an emerald could be difficult for some wizards and they swore up and down that rubies and diamonds were the best foci.

“I’ll manage, now lets eat,” Tassa said, taking the key and shoving it into her cleavage. This meal was without the jellied blood but Mali still tested the food.

“You don’t think they’d poison DiSol do you?” Mali asked when everything came up fine.

Tassa looked up at her, “They’re poisoning the Shadow Lord,” she said. Mali lurched to her feet but the entire world tipped and spun for her. She ended up unfooting herself and falling with a heavy thud, banging her elbows and feeling dizzy. Tassa was next to her in a moment. “You alright?” she asked as DiSol’s door opened.

“What’s going on out here?” he asked and Mali looked up at him from where she was on the floor. “Did you fall?” he asked.

“Its nothing, I fine, I’m fine,” she batted Tassa away but did allow Tassa to help her up.

“Is everything all right?” DiSol asked, coming towards her.

Mali looked at Tassa a moment and then at DiSol, “Today our breakfast contained tainted food,” she said.

“What?” and DiSol’s face went slack in confusion.

“Poisoned food,” Mali shook Tassa off her. “I was coming to ask to test your food. Did you eat any of it yet?”

“No, I was working,” DiSol said and he looked very pale. “Someone tried to _poison_ you?” he clarified.

“Yes,” Mali said, but didn’t tell him about the jellied blood or the herb doll.

DiSol rubbed his mouth and as usual didn’t let his real emotions show. “Do you really think they’d poison me?”

“I don’t know,” Mali said truthfully. “We’re your guests, and they tried to poison us.”

DiSol went into his room and came back out with a tray, “Test them,” he said. Mali touched the three plates, none of them came up black. “They’re safe?”

“Yes,” Mali said.

DiSol didn’t outwardly look angry, but she could tell by his eyes that he was furious. They were cold and they scared her quite a bit. “Thank you,” he said. “Be more careful so you don’t fall again.” She just shrugged a little. Then he turned around and went back into his room.

“He’s totally into you,” Tassa said.

Mali shoved her, “Will you knock it off. He isn’t ‘into me’. Can’t you just be normal? Gods its like Diylan leaves and you need to be gross.”

“Sex isn’t gross,” Tassa said.

“Uhg, I’m eating stop talking,” and Mali ate and whenever Tassa tried to start a conversation she just ignored the witch. Only once she was done did she turn to Tassa, “So the weave? How are you going to replicate it?”

“I was thinking I could weave it on the fly,” Tassa said.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Oh incredibly. But don’t you trust me?”

Mali’s mouth went thin, “Its not that I don’t Tassa, but what if it goes wrong?” Weaving could be a difficult thing to master. Most spells fired, did what they’d been woven to do, and then faded away in an instant. Weaving a spell into or onto was different and was much more powerful. Snapping them was in turn even more difficult because to be an unweaver you had to be a weaver and of the disciplines of practical magics weaving was one of the hardest to master. Simple weaves most witches could do, a weave was just a spell after all, but a weave anchored to something was different and required a completely different mindset then the spell castors. Weavers were a step above normal witches and wizards, but specialized like healers were. Tassa was a talented weaver, like her father was and a surprisingly good magi, like weavers weren’t. But to weave on the fly? She’d only heard of spellsmiths able to weave on the fly, and most of _them_ were crazy and killed themselves doing it anyway since one wrong move against an unstable weave and it all blew back in your face, ripped through your belsong and stopped your heart.

“Nothing will go wrong,” Tassa said. “We just need to wait till its later, when everyone has gone to sleep,” Mali nodded. “And we’re probably going to be up all night, you should probably rest.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Mali said stubbornly.

“Well _I’m_ going to go rest,” Tassa said getting up and taking their empty cart outside DiSol’s door and locking it. Then she went into her room. Mali stayed out in the main room, not wanting to get up. She didn’t want to admit it but she was afraid she’d fall again and Tassa wasn’t around to help her up.

Mali checked herself, putting one hand over her heart and the other against her neck. She could feel her pulse, and it was steady. When she extended her power she found the source of her blight immediately. It made her feel sort of sick. Since she’d ‘contracted’ the disease it’d let her study it in a way she couldn’t with LouSai. It masked itself with a cough and dizziness, to appear benign, especially in a place like DisAdo where contamination and disease could spread like a wildfire.

The disease itself couldn’t take over an infected on its own. She had a cough, and was dizzy, but that was all she’d be unless something weakened her further. Something like the poison being used on the Shadow Lord. But she could see how truly terrifying this contagion was. It was a spell woven _into_ her belsong. She’d never heard of such a thing. But here it was. It was designed to eat away at the person’s belsong, their very life force and the source of magic for a magi. It sapped strength slowly, but there was no way to stop it without amputating parts of your belsong itself. She’d never seen a successful amputation that hadn’t resulted in madness or in paralyses of the part of the body being amputated. But it couldn’t attack a strong belsong on its own, it needed a sick person with a weak immune system before it could start eating. Otherwise like any other virus the immune system would just fight it off, or a healer could come through and bolster the immune system and fight it off.

Mali inspected the virus from many angles, but the same as the past few weeks; nothing had changed. It sat just behind her heart as a black spot on her gleaming white belsong. She could cut it out, but doing so would stop her heart. LouSai’s black spot had started in the same place. She was still to strong for the virus to effect her. Which was good.

She put her hands down and closed her eyes to rest a bit as Tassa had suggested. She must have dozed off too because it seemed like only a moment later she was being shaken awake. “Tassa?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Yeah. C’mon, lets go.”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly midnight,” Tassa said. “You need to change.”

“What?”

“You’re conspicuous in those clothes, everyone knows you in those,” and Tassa dragged her to her feet. The world spun a moment but Tassa held her steady and pulled her to her room. Tassa shoved new clothes at her and then pushed her behind the changing screen. “I don’t want to wait too long,” she said.

“Where did you get these?” Mali asked as she stripped out of her green healer’s robes. The new clothes were black and made of stretchy material. Dressing was a self conscious struggle since it made her thick thighs and stomach obvious.

“I brought them with me, in case I needed them,” Tassa said. “You done yet?”

“They’re… tight,” Mali said.

“Oh come on,” Tassa huffed.

Mali poked her head out from behind the changing screen, “Can’t I just wear my clothes?”

“You need to blend in,” Tassa said. “As it is your figure is a dead giveaway,” and Mali flushed in embarrassment and anger. “But no need to be an eyesore. Now you done?”

“Yes,” Mali said and came out from behind the screen.

“Good,” and then Tassa was wrapping a cloak around her. Mali didn’t have to mask her surprise. “I saw some lonths wearing full cloaks around, most people didn’t look at them. Lets let them look at me huh?” she asked standing back.

“Tassa-

“What?”

Mali blinked, “Thanks,” she said.

Tassa smiled at her, “I’m a bitch maybe but I’m not needlessly mean,” she said, “personally I like how fluffy you are,” and she gave one of Mali’s love handles a little squeeze.

“Tassura!” Mali shrieked and slapped her hand away.

Giggling Tassa just pulled back, “C’mon, lets go to the apothecary and get your book,” and then she left her room. Fuming and huffing Mali did the only thing she could do; she followed.


	30. Four Tongues

Despite being the dead of the night the halls of DisAdo were bright enough to see. Special bioluminescent moss and lichen grew along the edges of the hall, and were  tended by the local plant mages to glow so brightly. At regular intervals every few hundred feet a red lamp glowed from a spot in the wall that all had the same painting under it. A woman with her eyes closed, but mouth open slightly, the light coming from her open mouth. Mali had passed the paintings hundreds of times without noticing them, but in the eerie red light they seemed to breathe and she did her best to avoid looking at them directly. For some reason she thought they’d open their eyes and she didn’t want to see it. They reminded her of the paintings in the Grand Temple in the Garden where she’d taken a few years of classes. The beautiful necrell who wore masks that only revealed their piercing red eyes.

They met no one on the way to the apothecary. When they reached it Tassa withdrew the key from her bosom and inserted it into the keyhole. “Keep watch,” Tassa said closing her eyes and started to wave her hand slowly over the key and the lock.

Mali looked down each hallway and then up and above the door. She’d never noticed before now but the apothecary had one of the paintings over the door. She swallowed and looked away from it.

Tassa worked for over half a bell before Mali heard the click of her turning the key. Mali pulled her power over her eyes and saw the key Tassa held glowing like a torch in her hand. The weaves were more intricate and tiny than anything Mali could ever have replicated. And Tassa had done them _on the fly_. As she watched Tassa tightened and tucked the strands of the weave more snuggly into the emerald and the key. “Okay,” Tassa said softly, “the weave is sealed now, it should always work unless they change it,” and she opened the door to the apothecary.

Mali went in and turned on one of the oil lamps as Tassa closed the door after checking the hall one more time. Mali went to Haver’in’s desk and started rifling through it. Then she started going through everything she could get her hands on. Where was the record book? It had to be here.

A sick thought came to her when she couldn’t find it, “What if he has it with him?” she asked Tassa just above a whisper.

“Worst case scenario, just keep looking,” Tassa said and started to help her. “Its probably in an obvious spot since these lonths don’t think anyone can get into a lock they make. I doubt he took it,” Mali nodded, yes of course, that sounded reasonable.

A few minutes more of looking Tassa pulled the log book from a shelf next to the desk. It looked like any of the other books so no wonder they’d missed it. She set it on Haver’in’s desk and Mali opened it. She flipped to the last page with writing on it and they both leaned over it to see what was written. “You have to be kidding me,” Mali said.

“What the hell is this?”

The text was illegible. Well, rather, it was very legible, just not something they could read. “Its written in jhasta,” Mali said. “Crap.” That was the problem when your country was just conquered countries that were allowed to keep most of their original culture. The original languages tended to stick around. Most feylon were bilingual, their first language being feylian which was taught in schools, and their second being the language of their province. Mali was one of the few monolingual people in the Alliance because she’d been born and raised in Assarus where only feylian was taught and her parents hadn’t thought their different cultural languages were important enough to teach her. She could speak some Nedalian in conversation from her time spent in the Garden where Gardeners a bastard form of the two languages mixed into one half the time, but that was about it. Tassa could speak fluent Aldrese, the language of the Aldash provence where the Peony ruled, but that’d do them no good either.

“Of course its in jhasta,” Mali groaned and rubbed her face.

“I don’t know jhasta,” Tassa said.

“Of course you don’t!” Mali snapped, “Uhg I thought jhasta only had a spoken form,” since jhasta was just the language of the Black Foot and they had no written language.

“Well, what are we gonna do?” Tassa asked.

“We… need to learn jhasta,” Mali sighed.

“You’re joking.”

“Does it _look_ like I’m joking,” Mali demanded and pointed firmly at her face which was drawn, angry, and a bit stressed out.

“No,” Tassa said.

“Good, cause I’m not,” Mali said. She found some paper and a pen and inkwell and started to copy down what was written.

“What are you doing?”

“Lets try not to come here too often. I want to get as much copied as I can so I can find a library and learn and have it here,” Mali said, writing quickly.

“It probably isn’t on that page,” Tassa said.

Mali shoved a pen and paper at Tassa, “I know, so help me. They wake up early around here, and I don’t want to be found wandering the halls at night.”

“Right,” Tassa said slowly but did start to write, copying the jhasta though neither of them knew what it meant.

They transcribed for about an hour before a clock on the wall went off, startling them both. It was two in the morning now. “Mali we should think about leaving,” Tassa said, they both had transcribed two pages. But jhasta was a difficult language and none of the marks resembled feylian in the slightest. Feylian was written on a staff, each character that made up the words written on the same mark. There were only about twenty-two different characters not including special ones in the feylian alphabet, half of them repeated but meaning different things based on if the word was feminine or not. Jhasta however seemed to have over a thousand symbols, all different and had none of the ordered structure feylian did. In an hour Mali knew she could have copied a dozen or more pages in feylian short hand, now though she had struggled to get two in jhasta.

“Just a bit more,” Mali said, turning a page back. “Half an hour more, then we’ll leave,” she promised. Tassa nodded and bent back over their pages. 

Forty minutes ticked by before Tassa said, “Mali, really. We can come back.”

Mali groaned in frustration. She hadn’t even transcribed another full page of the record book but she knew they needed to leave. They put back everything the way it had been when they arrived, Tassa triple checking that even the pens had been wiped down and placed in the exact same direction in the pen cup. Mali watched Tassa meticulously put everything back. “Do you really think he’d notice?” Mali asked.

“Yes,” Tassa said without hesitation. “Okay, everything is back where it should have been,” and it was now three in the morning. The clock went off again, chiming three times. “Lets get out of here,” and they left, Tassa locked the door and Mali stared up at the painting of the woman’s face.

“They’re creepy,” Mali said.

Tassa looked up at the painting, “Harmless though,” she said, “The only weave I can see is to make light. C’mon lets go,” and they walked back to DiSol’s quarters. 

Mali changed back into her own clothes before going back to her room, storing the sheets in her dirty laundry. She got ready to go to sleep feeling exhausted. When she slept she dreamt of the paintings of the women on the walls watching her.

—

The next morning Mali woke up late, to knocking. She didn’t answer it and instead of knocking again the door just opened. “Oh, Mali,” DiSol said, “I didn’t realize you were sleeping still.”

“Its fine,” Mali yawned, sitting up. “Did you need something?”

“I’m just letting you know I’ll be gone for the day again. The underlords’ meeting isn’t over.”

“Apparently they think you give a damn what they think?”

DiSol said nothing for a moment, “Something like that.”

“Okay,” she waved her hand at him. “I’ll be here when you return,” and she laid back down.

“Are you feeling all right? I heard you coughing again last night,” DiSol said.

“Fine. Just fine,” Mali promised, “Just tired.”

“Sleep well then,” and DiSol closed the door. 

Mali slept a while more before someone started knocking on her door again and Tassa called her name a few times. She got out of bed and when she opened the door Tassa was standing there waiting. “What?” she asked tiredly. She felt more tired then she had when she’d gone to sleep.

“Breakfast is here, and I asked DiSol where the library was before he left. Come,” and Tassa pulled Mali out of her room and into the sitting room and they had breakfast though Mali just sort of picked at her food. “You okay?”

“Tired,” Mali sighed.

Tassa’s mouth was thin, “You shouldn’t stay up so late again. If we have to go get more of those pages I’ll go alone. You’re sick-

“I’m _not sick_ ,” Mali snapped. “I’m a healer. Healers don’t just _get sick_.”

Tassa stared at her a moment, “You’re getting sick you idiot,” Tassa said harshly. “Between the death spell on you and your misguided attempt to learn how a sickness works by letting it infect you you’re getting sick.”

“Its a cough and dizziness,” Mali said and then explained the magical sickness to Tassa.

“Its on your belsong?” Tassa asked softly. Mali nodded. “And its on the Shadow Lord?” Mali nodded again. Tassa sat back, staring at the wall. “There’s no cure for this,” she said, her face gaunt with worry.

“There is,” Mali said. “A healer’s weaves are sustained by their own belsong. We don’t anchor our weaves like weavers do since to heal or do anything our spells need an open connection to our magic. But kill the healer who’s doing this, and the weave falls apart.”

“And you’re cured,” Mali nodded. “No offense Mali, but I don’t think you could kill anyone,” Tassa said.

“I don’t have to.”

“Oh?”

“DiSol will do it for me.”

“Mmm,” Tassa hummed but didn’t disagree. “First we need to find this bastard.”

“Yes, which is why we need to find the poison effecting the Shadow Lord. If I can counter their poison and bolster his immune system he can start fighting it himself, and this belsong infection is weak and fragile. I can fight it off just fine as I am,” the cough hid it since most healers wouldn’t do anything but treat the cough and dizziness. “It needs me weak.”

“Lets find that asshole,” Tassa said.

“Yes,” and Mali got up, refused to sway a bit and then went to her room to change. She didn’t bother to bring the pages. They needed an even rough understanding of jhasta before they could do anything with them. When she came back out in her day clothes, though bundled up against the chilly DisAdo fall, Tassa was waiting for her at the front door. “What did you tell DiSol we needed to go to the library for,” Mali said.

“I said you wanted to review some books on healing for spells you might not remember, that could help his father,” Tassa said. “He was a bit preoccupied thinking about the underlord meeting, so didn’t prod too much.”

“Good thinking,” Mali said and followed Tassa to the library. As they walked Mali looked for the paintings of the woman’s face on the walls but she saw none.

The library and DisAdo was like much of the fortress, made of light colored wood with cheery designs in the woodwork. The library was a great building, two stories tall and had _windows_ that looked out onto the the now snow covered landscape. There were eight great fireplaces in the library, each other gated by a metal mesh so accidents didn’t happen and the floors were warmed by pipes under the floorboards. The walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed with books of every variety and additional stacks were arranged in short, neat, rows at forty-five degree angles from the walls. At the back of the hall was a grand staircase that led up to the second floor which was filled with more books and scrolls as well. It wasn’t as large as the Wizen library in Assarus, but it was still impressive.

Along the central plane of the library were long lines of desks and many of the tables had people at them. In fact there were many young people there, girls and boys, some in clusters, some alone, looking like they were studying or doing homework. Most of them looked old enough to serve their time, only a few were any younger than that, and a few of them looked Mali and Tassa’s age.

“Where do we even start?” Tassa asked.

“Do you never go to a library?” Mali asked.

“Do I look like I do?” Tassa asked.

Mali looked her up and down, “No,” she said.

“There’s your answer.”

Mali huffed, “This way,” she beckoned and went over to the front desk where a librarian was seated, bent over their desk meticulously fixing a broken spine on a book. Mali cleared her throat and they looked up. They were a younger woman who looked like she’d come right out of the Boggart Swamps to the west. Reddish skin, straight black hair, black eyes and an incredibly straight nose.

“Oh, hello, can I help you?” they asked, hands poised on the spine still.

“Hello, I’m Mali Thralluk I-

“Oh, Mali-ein,” and the lonth got up and bowed to her a bit. “DiSol-sai said you might be coming.”

Mali looked at Tassa, confused, “He did?” she asked.

“Yes, he said we’re to assist you with whatever you need. My name is TasiDal, what can I do for you?”

“Well,” Mali said slowly. “I was looking for books on jhasta,” she said.

“Of course. What sort? And what dialect?” Dialect? Mali tried to not let the horror show on her face. TasiDal seemed to understand, “The basics then?”

“Yes,” Mali said. “Also, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell DiSol-sai what I asked for.”

TasiDal looked confused a moment, but nodded anyway. “Just jhasta?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mali said.

“This way then,” and the two of them followed the lonth as she left the counter and took them to the back of the library. “These books are for children,” TasiDal said as she picked out a few after reading their spine, “but they explain the basics, and the starting characters in the Onimori dialect, which is the one we speak here in DisAdo.”

“Good, thank you,” Mali said, taking the books TasiDal handed her. Despite giving her six of them they weren’t very heavy, in fact they looked a lot like work books.

“I was wondering,” Tassa said, “Do you have books on the history of DisAdo?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like some of those if possible, in feylian,” Tassa said with a little smile. 

“No problem, they’re this way.”

“Tassa, I’m gonna go sit,” Mali said, Tassa nodded and then followed after TasiDal. Mali went and found an empty table and sat down, opening one of the books that was written in feylian and was called ‘The Basics of Onimori Jhasta’.

Mali was reading when Tassa came back with TasiDal and the lonth said if they needed anything to let her know. The first couple of pages of the book was an introduction to jhasta, and sort of the brief history of the written language and then she came to a sentence that made her groan. “What?” Tassa asked.

“In the official language of jhasta, across the four dialects of Onimori, Toudomori, Morino, and Remoritou, there are three thousand two hundred and eight characters recognized by the scholars of DisAdo and the combined tribes of Black Foot in the Boggart Swamps,” Mali read from the book. 

“So basically-

“We’re screwed,” Mali groaned and rubbed her head. “I mean I have to assume the book is written in Onimori, but even still it says ‘Onimori, the most contemporary of the jhasta dialects, contains three hundred and fifty-two, of these characters. Onimori was created a hundred years ago in an attempt to make jhasta easier to learn by those who are not native to LoHanJo’in, but as it bears little resemblance to feylian many feylon not raised in the teachings find even Onimori difficult to learn. Even with the easier to learn Onimori jhasta is considered by many scholars in the Alliance to be one of the most difficult of all province languages to learn.’ So basically I have to learn one of the hardest languages in order to just find out one thing, that might not even be here in the first place,” Mali rubbed her eyes. “I hate Spayar. Damn man sending me here.”

“Same,” Tassa said.

Mali sighed, “Well, best get started at least. Why did you ask for a history of DisAdo?” she asked, anything to delay her pain of learning jhasta.

“DiSol seemed extremely displeased about those ‘underlords’. I want to know what an underlord is and why he gives a shit so much,” Tassa said. “In Aldash the Peony have ultimate authority, and their lower houses don’t get much say in the goings on of Peonia. So I want to know why DiSol can’t just tell them to fuck off.”

“Hmm,” Mali nodded. She pulled out a notebook and pen and inkwell she’d brought with her to help her learn and study, and then opened to the first page of practice pages. Written in large letters in the top margin of each page it said ‘DO NOT WRITE IN THIS BOOK’. She wondered how many times work books like these had been ruined by young lonths learning their second language.

The first few pages were simple enough and the exercises asked you to just copy the characters they had and to draw them in the proper way. Then creating words from those characters started and Mali saw the long road ahead of her. All characters in Onimori jhasta were made up of at maximum eight strokes but she had a feeling that all these simple characters she was learning now would be augmented to denounce possession or gender identity or tense much like feylian staff words were. Only each character could probably be augmented separately and when done so would make different words unlike feylian which one staff could only be augmented one way instead of what could possibly turn out to be six or seven ways.

They broke once for lunch, Mali’s head spinning with jhasta when they returned to DiSol’s rooms for their meal. Mali finished eating quickly after testing the food, no poison today, and went right back to work. Tassa joined her a bit later, continuing her reading on DisAdo history.

When night fell the library closed. Mali couldn’t take her books with her either because she wasn’t a lonth. TasiDal gave her a key for a cubby box though since children couldn’t take books back to their dorm halls either and if they wanted to keep track of their books they just left them in the locked cubby boxes. Mali put her books and Tassa’s books in there till tomorrow and they returned to DiSol’s rooms. 

DiSol was there already, pacing in front of the fireplace. He looked up when they entered. “Enjoy the library?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mali said.

“Good. Before dinner, could you check on my father?” he asked.

“Of course.” Though she knew his condition wouldn’t have improved since she’d looked at him a few days ago.

“Good, please,” and he beckoned her out of the room and down the hall. “I hope you found whatever you needed.”

“So far,” Mali said.

“How goes that idea you had with the bone?” DiSol asked.

“It till take me a few days to complete the weave properly,” Mali said, “these things take time, DiSol.”

DiSol’s face was tight when they reached the room of the Shadow Lord, “My father doesn’t have that luxury,” he said, holding the knob so hard she heard it creak, but didn’t open it.

“I’m sorry,” Mali said. “But I’m just one person.”

He took a deep breath, “Of course. I didn’t mean to pressure you,” he said and opened the door.

It smelled heavily of herbs in the room and JaGul was sitting by the bed making LouSai drink something. He looked up when the two of them entered. “DiSol-sai,” he said.

“How is my father?” DiSol asked.

“No change,” JaGul said.

“Very well. Be gone,” he waved JaGul away dismissively and picked up the cup the healer had left. JaGul eyed Mali with dislike as he left. JaGul didn’t like her because she wasn’t Shade.

“DiSol,” Mali grabbed his wrist holding the cup, “wait.”

“Why?” he asked and Mali took the cup. She tested it with her magic.

“Is something wrong?” LouSai asked.

Mali took a sip of the concoction once she was pleased it wasn’t laced with anything. “Mali that’s for my father,” DiSol said angrily.

“Well he shouldn’t be drinking it anyway,” she said and set it aside. “Its poppy wine.”

“Yes, to help me sleep,” LouSai said and DiSol looked like he was restraining himself.

“A healer doesn’t drug their patient needlessly,” Mali said and pressed her fingertips to one of LouSai’s temples to check his pulse. “Any healer should be able to make you sleep with their magic. What element is JaGul?” she asked DiSol.

“Water,” DiSol said, voice hard and strained.

“Hmmm,” she regarded father and son. “Don’t let him feed you poppy wine anymore,” she told the old man firmly. “You don’t need it. Poppy also can be used to dull the senses to other treatments.”

“Mali JaGul is my father’s doctor,” DiSol said.

Mali looked at DiSol and realized there was really no easy way she could break this to them. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t have LouSai receiving bad treatment anymore. He wouldn’t last the rest of fall if he was allowed to be treated like this. “This isn’t a sickness,” she said, “This is an assassination.”

“What?” DiSol hissed.

“You are dying Shadow Lord,” she told him, “and there’s nothing I can do for you. Or anything JaGul can do for you.”

“What?” LouSai’s mouth was open slightly in shock.

“The sickness you have is a sickness of the belsong, an infection like black mold, that is eating away at your life force. Now, I can make you better no problem. The coughing, your lungs filling with fluid, the aches of your bones, the dizziness and sweating. I can fix all those things.”

“Then why haven’t you?” DiSol demanded angrily.

“Netaw,” LouSai said, putting his hand on DiSol’s hand and DiSol made himself calm down.

“Because if I did then whoever is killing you would quicken the process. Its why when I leave you feel better but whenever I come back you feel bad again. How many healers do you have?”

“Including you? Two?” LouSai said.

“JaGul is his main healer, but he has half a dozen,” DiSol said, “they’re all looking for a cure though JaGul is his bed tender.”

“There is no cure,” Mali said, “except to kill whoever it is who’s infecting your belsong. We kill them and you’ll make a full recovery. I don’t know if you’ll ever be at the strength you were before, but you be able to get out of bed again, live again.”

“Who is doing it?” DiSol growled.

“I don’t know,” Mali said. “But we can’t let them know I know any of this and am making steps to stop them. If they get any wind that I could find them then they’d speed up the spread of the infection. Its started at your heart, LouSai, and the infection has taken over about sixty percent of your belsong. Its growing, slowly, and it won’t stop until its taken your life.”

“So what are you doing to help me, girl?” LouSai said. “DiSol told me the _d'aelar_ promised you’d help.”

“What I’m doing I’m keeping a secret for now. But I assure you, everything I’ve done so far has been to help you. I brought a friend of mine to help me, because she can do things I can’t.”

LouSai looked up at her, then at DiSol who was shaking a bit, then back at Mali, “I trust you,” he said. “And I trust of the word of the _d'aelar_ that you will make this right.”

“I will. Now, I’m going to heal you some. You’re going to feel good tomorrow, when your healers come in I want you to ask them everything that they’re giving you and I want you to tell DiSol those things. He will tell me.”

“How will that help?”

“The Shade aren’t the only ones who make poisons, LouSai,” she said simply. “There are medical serums and elixirs that would make you go white.”

“I doubt that, girl,” LouSai said with a smirk.

“Regardless. I know what ‘treatments’ are poison, and what aren’t. Keep track of what they make you eat or drink as well.”

“I will try. My memory abandons me at times.”

“I will be here when they feed him,” DiSol said. “I will keep track.”

“Good enough,” Mali said. “Now Shadow Lord, I’m going to take all your pain away, and make you sleep. If your healers refuse to do this for you, refuse whatever they may ask you to drink or take to make you sleep instead.”

“Fine with me. They usually taste awful anyway,” LouSai said, grimacing.

“Do you want to say anything before you father goes to sleep?” she asked DiSol.

“The underlords are upset,” he said.

“They always are. What news is this?”

“They’re calling for the impeachment of our family. They say since you’re dying and your heir has gone missing that the Shade are falling apart and a new house needs to head DisAdo.”

“I’m not dead yet.”

“I could-

“No,” LouSai said, “I need you here. If you leave there are no Shade in DisAdo to fend off those tigers.”

“But father-

“I said _no_ ,” LouSai said.

DiSol bowed his head, “Yes, father,” he said.

LouSai looked at Mali, “Make sure my son doesn’t do anything foolish,” he told her.

“He’s foolish already I think I’m too late for that,” and LouSai laughed then it turned into a coughing fit. Mali pressed her hand gently to his hand and eased it. LouSai said something to DiSol in jhasta, DiSol just sighed at him.

“What do I do about the underlords?” DiSol asked.

“Do I really have to tell you? You’re a Shade, DiSol, the most feared family in the Boggart Swamps. Remind them that.”

DiSol’s face was hard, “I will,” he said simply.

“Good.”

“Is that all?” Mali asked, DiSol nodded. “Sleep well, Shadow Lord,” she said.

“I hope so,” he said and Mali put one hand on his heart, the other his forehead and closed her eyes. Power rushed through her and she whispered the words that wove her magic into shape and settled into LouSai. The Shadow Lord sighed contently and closed his eyes. She ran the gambit through his body, easing the aches of his bones and bolstering his immune system. She also took that time to examine the infection on his belsong. It hadn’t moved very far along since the last time she’d seen it, which was good. Whoever was doing this was drawing out the Shadow Lord’s suffering. But for what purpose?

She was frowning when she pulled her hands from the Shadow Lord. “He’s well?” DiSol asked.

“He’s dying,” Mali said, “but he’s better then when JaGul left.”

“Good,” DiSol leaned over LouSai and kissed his forehead and said something in jhasta then got up. “Lets go, dinner will be ready now.” Mali followed behind him and when he opened the door JaGul was waiting from them. “My father is sleeping, do not disturb him.”

“DiSol-sai I haven’t finished administering his-

“He is not to be disturbed,” DiSol said harshly. “I am Shade, do not forget your place Aldoshade,” he ended darkly.

JaGul adverted his eyes, “Yes, DiSol-sai,” he said meekly.

“Good, begone,” and JaGul fled. Mali followed him back down the hall. Dinner was uneventful, DiSol again didn’t join them and after letting Mali test his food retired to his bedroom.

“Did you learn anything today?” Mali asked Tassa.

“I learned what the underlords are at least,” Tassa shrugged.

“Oh?”

“Well you know the Shade come from the Black Foot,” Mali nodded. “The Shade were one family from the Aldoshade tribe, they agreed to join the Alliance and give up their rights to LoHanJo’in. Not everyone agreed, so the Shade _forced_ them to agree. They Shade basically conquered a few dozen other tribes and forged them into the house of Shade. The underlords are from the old tribes, chieftains from before they were feylian. I guess there’s still bad blood between them and the Shade over what they did.”

Mali frowned, “The Shadow Lord told DiSol to remind the underlords that he is a Shade,” she said, “I wonder what that means.”

“Just from what I read, which trust me, was _super_ boring, apparently the Shade were puppeteers,” and Mali shivered, Tassa didn’t look too pleased by that either. “I don’t know if DiSol can do that though.”

“Me neither,” Mali frowned.

“What about you? What did you find out?”

“Nothing,” Mali sighed, “just the basics of jhasta,” she rubbed her eyes. “I’m going to have to be at this for weeks to make any headway.”

“Does DiSol know?”

“No. His emotions get out of hand when it comes to his father. He’d let something slip out, even by accident. Any indication to the poisoner that anyone knows what they’re doing would just spook them and make them progress with the entire thing faster. No, I need him in the dark still, until I know.”

“I see,” Tassa said. “So we’re going to the library tomorrow as well?” Mali nodded. “Shall I go copy more pages tonight?”

“No,” Mali shook her head, “not until I have a grasp on jhasta and can even read _some_ of it.”

“Okay,” Tassa said.

—

The next day they were in the library again and her eyeballs were swimming in jhasta. She leaned back, away from the strange language and looked up at the vaulted ceiling. A few chairs down she heard some of the teenagers talking.

“-But did you hear? My brother told me the meeting of the underlords turned gruesome.”

“Don’t believe it, your brother lies all the time DenKal,” another said.

“No, really, he _swore_ to me it was the truth, that DiSol-sai did it.”

“Yeah right. _My_ mother told me no one can do that anymore. Too much feylon in the Shade, not enough Black Foot,” a third said.

“Excuse me,” Mali said, making the three teenagers start. “What did you brother say DiSol-sai did?” she asked.

“He said DiSol-sai used puppet magic on the underlord council,” he said.

“And we’re telling you that’s impossible,” the third one said irritably.

“It is so.”

“Is not.”

“Is not-“ then the three of them all turned and looked when a librarian showed up behind them. They swallowed.

“Leave your books and get out,” the librarian said.

“But-

“You’re too loud. _Out_ ,” they hissed.

The teenagers shuffled their things together and left meekly. Mali looked back at Tassa, “You think he could do it?”

“I have no idea,” Tassa admitted. “Ask him tonight?”

Mali hesitated, “I think I’ll just let it lie. If he wants to tell me he will,” and she somehow didn’t think this qualified as what LouSai had said about keeping DiSol from doing something foolish. She went back to her studies and tried not to think about it too much.

They developed that routine. Mali and Tassa would go to the library every day, and DiSol would manage his house. The day after his supposedly used puppet magic on the underlord council he seemed more relaxed and less angry or agitated. Mali spent most of her time in the library but Tassa often left her alone to go do other things, help in other ways, like spy on people, listen to conversations, learn things she couldn’t sitting there in the library. When DiSol went into his bedroom at night they’d stay up and trade information.

The situation in DisAdo was unstable. The underlords thought the Shade were weakening. LouSai had only produced two children, and had refused to remarry when his wife had died in an accident. CoLan hadn’t been seen in months and DiSol was no heir because he hadn’t completed his rite of killing the pack tiger, polar bear, and leopard seal. But unless LouSai died he was technically still Shadow Lord and nothing could really be done to impeach him though apparently the underlords had been threatening it.

It made every underhouse a suspect for LouSai’s poisoning. 

Mali couldn’t worry about that now though. She had to focus on one thing at a time, and right now she was focused on uncovering the poisoner. Meaning she was focused on learning Onimori jhasta as quickly as she could.

She spent weeks at the library, slowly learning everything she had to learn and could barely string together a simple sentence like; the dog ran up a hill. Reading was easier but when she looked at the words on the pages she and Tassa copied that night she didn’t recognize a single character or word. It was maddeningly frustrating.

One night she was having dinner with Tassa, listening to the information she’d gathered that day from her current boy toy the son of an underlady who had a slack mouth after sex, when someone knocked. Then the door was shoved open, “Where’s DiSol-sai?” the lonth asked, breathing hard.

Mali pointed to DiSol’s room and they bounded over to the door and knocked loudly. When he didn’t answer they rushed in and Mali’s brow furrowed when she she heard DiSol cry, “What!?” She looked towards Tassa but Tassa shrugged, she didn’t know either. Then the loth darted from DiSol’s room and out of front door, closing it behind him, having more people to speak to by his speed.

DiSol came out of his room, looking like he was in shock, “What happened?” Mali asked.

DiSol turned to them and seemed to have to come to terms with the information he’d been given. Finally he said, “Tallalsala started the Feytol Conflict.”


	31. Knifehead

The middle of autumn meant snow for the mountain city of Ire. Only a few hours ride on horseback north of Galinsum Ire was home to the common people who needed to go to Galinsum regularly. Ire was also the home of the largest post office this side of the Alliance and the only one that functioned, in addition to mail service, with the ferrying of people of Ire to and from Galinsum, turning a five hour trip by horseback into an hour long flight.

The mornings were always cold in Ire. The city was built high in the mountains, perfect for the weather mages and astronomers who preferred its high altitude for their work, but not so great for waking up early in the morning. It was snowing outside when Aron got dressed for the morning flights to Galinsum. He layered silks and wools under his flak jacket, which in Ire had a thicker inner layer, because it was always so cold up here. He’d been given the new flak jacket when he’d arrived in Ire a year ago after serving his time, and he hadn’t worn the in comparison thin flak jacket since then.

The floors of the post office and the flighter barracks where was warmed from steam pipes that was also used to warm the sink and bath water. The walls of the barracks were made of two layers, the outer was wood planks with all the holes filled and the inside was made of huge slabs of rock to create as few cracks as possible for wind and cold air to slip through. Aron had his own room with one window, as did all the flighters who served the post office, it had a bed and a closet, a desk and chair and two book cases. It reminded him of living back at the Wyrd, except there were no windows at the Wyrd unless you lived on the central cone. Warm air blew up through grates in the floor from pipes that led down to the basement where the great boilers churned. There were three of them and they were constantly fed a steady stream of coal or infused fire foci and they kept the entire post office and barracks warm even during the coldest, harshest, of blizzards that often battered Ire during the deep winter.

Aron left his room and went down to the dining hall. Many of the flighters were already there, eating. Usually a post office for a city of Ire’s size would have two dozen flighters to take rapid delivery postage that moment or every Tuesday would leave with huge bags of mail strapped to the wyrm’s back and deliver the regular mail so they could be distributed to the city by the post workers and messengers of the city. Smaller cities and towns that didn’t get as much mail got their mail on Thursdays but most people just paid for the rapid delivery price. Which was the point of course, that was where the post office made their money which was used to pay the post workers and pay their due to the Drake for the continued use of their flighters.

Ire was different though. Ire had five dozen flighters in their post office. More than any other post office except maybe the capitals but Aron had never been to Assarus or Surassa so he didn’t really know. Galinsum paid most of the dues for the flighters to the Drake, they could afford it after all, and without the flighters to carry a huge chunk of their work force from Ire to Galinsum every day they’d come to a standstill.

Aron got his breakfast, served to him by one of the wyrm mothers who’d come with their husbands to Ire, or maybe she’d married him here. He didn’t know. All he knew was that the food tasted like home and that was what he cared about. Breakfast for flighters in the fall was chicken and orange sausage that was nearly bursting from its skin, two oranges that were each as big as Aron’s hand, eggs made however you wanted topped with hot sauce, and thick slices of toast with some sort of jam on top. Aron liked the lime marmalade personally. The servings were large, since they’d be burning through a lot of it the next few hours.

He sat with some of the other flighters who were stuffing their faces, knowing they’d soon be going out into that dark snow and flying south to Galinsum. “Anyone else hear the news?” Mido asked as he sipped orange juice, Aron had gotten lemonade, it reminded him more of the hot summers of Dodorum and not the cold outside like orange juice did.

“What news?” Aron asked, to humor Mido, he constantly ‘had news’, he swore up and down was true.

Mido leaned over to him,he’d tried to get the others’ attention before Aron had showed up but that had nose dived. “I heard the Wyrm Lord might be recalling everyone to the Wyrd,” he said.

“Yeah, why?” Aron asked.

“He’s lying, Aron,” Haddock grumbled at Mido, “Stop spittin’ and just eat your damn breakfast. We’re gonna have earfuls of wind soon and I don’t want you spittin’ over that.”

“I ain’t spittin’,” Mido scowled at Haddock. “Apparently something happened.”

“Which you don’t know,” Haddock growled, “So your news is dumb.”

“At least I know,” Mido snapped.

“Guys, c’mon lets not fight,” Aron said putting his hand on Mido’s shoulder. “Lets just get through rush in one piece.”

“Right,” Haddock grumbled and went back to his food, the others hadn’t engaged. They didn’t want to get involved with Haddock and Mido, the two were like oil and water.

The rest of breakfast passed without incident and then their commander rang the bell by the side of the entrance. “All right everyone, morning’s starting,” he called. Everyone got up, some keeping their conversations going, and filed out of the hall, leaving their dirty dishes on a cart for whoever cleaned them and headed into the post office.

The post office was divided into two parts. The actual post office where mail was ferried around the city or put into sacks for mail day, and then the ferry station which was much larger. The station was a long cause way inside a huge room that had three walls, the forth led out into the outside right off the side of a cliff. There were six stations where lines had already formed by the people of Ire. Normal people who couldn’t afford how expensive Galinsum was. The lines were already a hundred deep at least.

Aron was at station four with nine other people. Each station correlated to a station in Galinsum set up to receive flighters. The first trip five wyrms from each station left at once and then after that it was every twenty minutes until the end of rush where it slowed to once an hour until about the fifth bell when it went back to once every twenty minutes to bring everyone _back_ from Galinsum.

“You got first flight, Aron. Nome is flight leader, watch him,” commander Newtin said, handing out assignments on who’d be flying when.

“Yes, sir,” he said as Newtin moved on and pulled on his skull cap, and then on top of that he yanked on the full face mask that had a glass visor in the front to keep wind off your face but let you see. Gloves went on and he buttoned up his flak jacket.

The world became bathed in purple light as the flighters called their wyrms and portals at each station opened. The people in the queues waiting to be taken to work had seen the sight as many times as the flighters by now, and were no longer impressed by the display. “ _Marthu_ ,” he called to his wyrm, “ _time to fly_.”

“ _Marthu is coming_ ,” Marthu said and the portal yawned open wider to accommodate five wyrms trying to come out at once. Aron’s eyes black out and he could see many wyrms crawling through the gaps in the world, but like he was looking at them through fogged glass. Marthu was the only one in clear, crisp, detail. _“Marthu is here_ ,” she proclaimed as she stepped out of the portal and Aron could see again and down the courtyard a wyrm bugled happily.

Aron went to Marthu to Marthu and climbed onto her saddle but didn’t get on, rather he stood on her shoulder, arms folded, the band on his arm and the marker on Marthu’s saddle proclaiming them as riders for station four. Flighters not on the first flight let people leave the line in small groups. Aron helped people climb up though most of them needed no help after doing this so long. They all wore thick coats and hats and protective eye wear and knew what to expect, even from a flight through snow.

Once Marthu’s saddle was full Aron took his place at the front, signaling he was ready. They didn’t have to wait long for the rest of the first flight to be ready either. Across the causeway Aron’s eyes were pulled by the feeling of someone tugging on the back of his eyes and he found Nome on wrymback, one hand up, his glove glowing blue. He moved it in the signal to fly. 

“ _Let’s go_ ,” he said to Marthu and she took off. The first flight was slow to start but wyrms quickly got up to running speed and ran like deer when they had to. The room was long enough for them to sort of form up behind Nome’s Tetrathus and then they jumped out into the open air.

Aron’s arms strained when Marthu jumped off the cliff and was quickly taken by the wind as she threw open her brilliant wings. His passengers pressed tightly together and he felt the tightening of the safety lines since during high winds when it scared them and Aron needed extra pull on the leads and they did so without realizing. Ahead a wyrm roared angrily into the wind that battered them and scattered them in the gale and Marthu joined in the swift accompaniment.

Aron’s head twisted when he felt the pull of the blue glow. Nome was that way. He yanked on the leads and Marthu twisted and flung her wings forward and the flight barreled towards Nome and Tetrathus. Aron read the signs as Nome gave orders and then got into formation as best he could as a great diamond shape.

Then they climbed.

Snow and ice pinged off Aron’s visor as they climbed at a nearly ninety degree angle, the flight like a knife through the wind. They hit the dark grey clouds and anyone not wearing a water resistant clothing was soaked in moments. Aron kept his eyes on the tail of the wyrm in front of him bobbing in the thick clouds. Then at once they were free of the clouds and the wind and above the cloud layer, the sun rising over the mountains turning the flat top of clouds yellow and peach in the morning light. The flight leveled out and Aron could finally turn around and check on his passengers.

“Everyone all right?” he yelled over the wind which snatched his words from his mouth almost as soon as they left them. He didn’t hear anything though saw some mouths move. “Good! Estimated arrival time to Lockheart Station is a fifty minutes,” he relayed as Marthu spoke into his mind, repeating what Tetrathus was telling her from Nome who set the flight plan.

He turned back around, “ _All good_ ,” he said and felt Marthu relaying that up to Tetrathus. Marthu flapped hard and got into formation with other Lockheart Station flighters.

“ _Nome says Aron is to mind meld_ ,” Marthu said. Aron didn’t reply, he just leaned against Marthu and slipped his mind against hers. He breathed deeply as she filled her lungs with each wing beat, his heart pumping at the same time as hers. The wind felt good on his face even though it was crisp and icy on his skin and scales. Everyone took turns leading the flight, pulling them to go faster and faster, the flight cutting through the wind like a hot knife through butter.

In seemingly no time at all the clouds gave way to the city of Galinsum lit by the sun just peaking over the highest peaks so the city was cast in jagged shadows.

Aron peeled off from the rest of the flight with the four others were were going to Lockheart Station. They spiraled slowly down to the station’s huge courtyard that had been built specifically to hold two wyrms at once. Two flighters landed while Aron and the three others held a flight pattern above the station. Once they took off Aron directed Marthu down onto the courtyard which was a dirt ground with high stone walls.

“Lockheart Station,” Aron announced loudly once he’d landed. He got up and helped everyone unbuckle from the saddle and helped everyone down. A woman asked him which way she had to go to get to Nickel Street. “Through the red arch, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said but Aron was already distracted when one of the other flighters called his name.

“We need to get going,” they called, though all covered up as they were Aron couldn’t tell who was who. “Storm up in Ire is getting worse, we need to make as many trips as possible before flight conditions get too bad.” Aron made the hand sign that he understood and got back on Marthu’s back. There weren’t many people needing to go back to Ire and they spread out the seven people who wanted to go to the city across them to make everyone as light as possible. “Up!” they yelled and Aron urged Marthu back into the air.

They formed a line as they gained altitude, to cut down on wind resistance and ended up meeting up with another set of flighters on their way back to Ire. They ended up passing several more flighters racing towards Galinsum at a far faster speed than Aron’s flight had gone and the amount of flighters leaving Ire was way more than it should have been. When they started to descend to Ire Aron saw why. The light snow and high winds that had started early in the morning had turned into a snow storm.

As soon as they left the cloud cover the wyrms’ line was blown all over the place. Wyrms screamed angrily and Aron fought to keep Marthu’s head straight. He could feel someone with a command glove and when he looked for it he saw it was coming from the ferry station. “ _Towards the light_ ,” he ordered Marthu and her wings strained but did overcome the wind, taking them towards the little glowing beacon. All at once they were in the calm air of the station. Marthu had to land quickly to not crash and ended up running the rest of the length of the station to check her speed without giving their passenger whiplash.

“Are we still flying?” Aron asked one of the other station attendants as he helped his passenger down, other than the flighters that had come in with him unloading passengers, there were no other flighters.

“Yes,” the attendant said. “Passengers for Lockheart Station wyrms have arrived!” they called and people came forward quickly. “We’ll relay through your wyrm if we’re stopping the rush.”

“Right,” Aron said.

“Fly as fast as you can,” they added. Aron just nodded.

“Lockheart Station group,” one of the flighters yelled and raised his hand above his head, hand glowing. “I’m flight leader. As we ready?” Aron sat once his saddle was full. “We fly!” and their wyrms took off at a dead run along with several other station groups towards the exit.

“ _Brace!”_ Aron heard the echo through the telepathic link across all the wyrms as they hit the outside winds. He primitively leaned hard gale side to compensate for the wind and Marthu wasn’t blown so hard off course. Aron yanked back on Marthu’s leads to drag her upwards, fighting the wind with the rest of the flighters up into the clouds where the air was calm.

Aron made the trip to and from Galinsum once more before storm conditions got too bad to continue to fly. He ended up being temporarily stranded in Galinsum while he waited for the storm to pass. He just hung out at Lockheart Station with two other flighters, which wasn’t so bad.

While they waited for conditions to improve they smoked red lace and told stories from when they served time. Each story was more outrageous than the last but that didn’t mean they were all untrue.

A man approached the three of them. “Excuse me, I know the post isn’t for a few days, but I have an urgent parcel.”

Aron looked at the other two, “Uh, we’re not part of the Galinsum post flighters,” Aron said.

“I know,” the man said.

“We can’t take Galinsum mail,” Hedry said.

The man looked annoyed with them, “Look,” he said, “this is post from the High Alchemist, and its _secret_.”

“Oh,” Aron said. “Like… how secret we talking here?”

“Aron,” Jef smacked his arm, “you can’t take post from outside your city,” he hissed.

“If its important though,” Aron said slowly.

“It is of the upmost importance,” the man assured Aron seeing he was the only one even considering it. “This package needs to be delivered to Assarus.”

“What’s in it?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” they told him darkly. “I know you boys aren’t stupid, you know war is coming,” and Aron was the only one of them who didn’t grin in anticipation. The Feytol Conflict had started a week ago, and everyone in the flighter corps was waiting for Jollen to say who they’d align with. Aron was one of the few flighters not looking forward to the war. “This is important for it.”

“Yeah, and who’s side it for?” Jef asked.

The man hesitated, “It matter?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t care who its for,” Aron said, talking right over Jef. “These two won’t take it anyway. Its against the rules.”

“And what, you will Mr. By-The-Book?” Hedry said, poking him.

“Yeah,” Aron said, looking at the both of them. “Cause you know the ones who follow the rules can break them more often. No suspects us,” and Jef and Hedry seemed to have to digest that. Aron got up, towering over the man, not that he meant to. Flighters were just, by nature, ridiculously tall. Didn’t matter what part of the Alliance they were from, something about the wyrms effected their growth as teenagers. Aron didn’t know a single flighter under six feet because of it. “Over here,” he motioned and the man followed him a a fair bit away and out of easy hearing range.

“So, what’s in the package?”

“I told you, a secret.”

“I need to know what I’m carrying,” Aron said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Even if I told you you wouldn’t know what they are. All that matters is that its important.”

Aron huffed, “Okay,” Aron said, “who’s it for?”

“The _d’aelar_.”

Aron’s brows went up, “There’s a _d'aelar_ in Assarus?” he asked.

“Oh yes. A very good one,” he said and Aron rose an eyebrow when the man’s ears turned a bit pink. He cleared his throat, “Its for the _d’aelar_ ,” he continued.

“All right,” Aron said. “This is off the books,” he said, “and you aren’t using a Galinsum post-

“Here,” and Aron’s eyes widened. The man was giving him an _atrus_. Aron had never even seen an atrus, let alone held one. “Don’t let anything happen to this package,” he said.

“Whatever you say,” Aron said, staring at the big coin. “You’re really giving me this?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Okay, you got yourself a courier. Where’s the package?” 

They pulled a small box out from their satchel and held it out to him. When Aron went to take it the man sort of held it back, “If anyone but the _d'aelar_ tries to open this package it will explode, so don’t even _think_ about opening.”

“I’m a post flighter, I don’t open mail,” Aron said, and took the box. There was an address written neatly on the front, it was for some house in Bellringer. “Who’s it from again?”

“The High Alchemist,” the man said.

“And who are you? So I can tell him.”

The man hesitated a moment, his ears turned pink again. “Cole,” he said, “Ah— tell the _d'aelar_ I said hello.”

“Sure,” Aron said. “Nothing’s going to happen to your package.”

“Thank you,” Cole said. “I need to be getting back now,” and he left quickly. Aron watched him go, head cocked.

“Hey Aron,” he turned when Jef called him and he saw the two had left the table where they’d been smoking and were standing out in the courtyard. “Storm’s eased up, we’re leaving.”

“Coming!” Aron called, grabbing his things. He put the package in Marthu’s front saddle bag.

The flight back to Ire was uneventful and while the storm had cleared a bit since that morning the winds still tried to rip the air out from Marthu’s wings as they arrived at the ferry station. He was confused when he saw the entire postal corps in the station, loitering around, but no passengers.

“What’s going on?” Aron asked as he slid off Marthu’s back.

“We’re leaving,” an older flighter said.

“What?”

“Wyrm Lord’s retracted every flighter in the Alliance,” he said, “cause of the Conflict,” they grinned, “we’re going to war.”

“Fantastic,” Aron said dryly.

“Newtin said to go get your stuff, once everyone’s back we leave as one.”

“Right,” Aron said.

 _“Its the orange harvest, Aron_ ,” Marthu said longingly.

_“Its war.”_

_“Yes, but Aron_ , oranges _. Can Dathu and Marthu have some when we get there?”_ and she nudged him.

Aron couldn’t help but smile when she did that and rubbed her nose, “ _Yes. I’ll get you and Dathu oranges_ ,” he promised and Marthu bugled. “I need to get my things, I’ll be back,” and he left her in the station and went into the barracks.

He wasn’t the only one getting his stuff, at least a dozen flighters were rapidly packing their bags for the flight home. Aron joined them and put everything into his bags. Postal tours only lasted about three years each for normal post flighters, so most of Aron’s stuff was still back home at the Wyrd. He still had accumulated a bunch of stuff in the year he’d been here. He wasn’t really looking forward to going home either, since he’d taken the post tour with the purpose to get away since he didn’t want to stay in the military like other flighters did.

Once his bags were packed he went back out to the ferry station and strapped them to Marthu’s back. _“Are you excited, Aron?”_ she asked.

“ _Not really.”_

_“Why not? Doesn’t Aron miss home?”_

_“I mean… I guess_ ,” he frowned.

She rubbed her big face against him, “ _It will work out,_ ” she promised.

_“They never came to see me.”_

_“Aron left the Wyrd angry.”_

_“They didn’t even_ write _though!”_

 _“No_ ,” she agreed.

_“Idiot.”_

_“Marthu is sorry,”_ she cooed and rubbed against him. He held onto her head.

“Flighters!” he heard Newtin yell and his eyes were drawn by the power of the glove to where Newtin was sitting on his wyrm. “We’re going home! I’ve been informed that the Wyrm Lord will be holding a grand meeting tonight. Make sure you’re there. It will probably be the decision of our corps’ standing in this blessed Conflict,” and there was a great cheering.

 _“Great. More fighting_ ,” Aron huffed.

“ _Don’t blame them for what they like,”_ Marthu said gently. “ _Aron doesn’t like fighting, other flighters do. Aron always says to not hate without cause.”_

Aron looked up at her, “ _Don’t quote me_ ,” he said irritably and she laughed in his mind and blew hot air at him.

He climbed up onto Marthu’s back, looking at Newtin. “Flighters!” he yelled, “We fly!”

Aron’s voice joined the deafening battle cry that was also the other half of their corpse motto, “We fight!”

The entire corpse left the station in a flurry of wings, darting upwards, towards the safety of calm air above the clouds. Once up there a great diamond was formed, Aron and Marthu closer to the center, to make flying easier. Aron leaned down against Marthu’s neck as they flew, melding with her. He always loved how much she loved flying with him, the wind under their wings, how their lungs powered each beat of their wings, how warm the sun felt this high up on their scales and hair. When they were one was the best flying.

They arrived at the Wyrd in the late afternoon and joined a huge cloud of flighters circling the top of the Wyrd, waiting for their turn to land. Aron left Marthu’s mind and looked around, trying to see if he knew anyone. He didn’t recognize anyone but other postal flighters from Ire. It took half an hour before it was his and Marthu’s turn to enter the top of the mountain and fly down towards the great sandy bottom. Someone, or several someones, had left a portal just open for use of the returning flighters. Aron grabbed his bags quickly and got off Marthu and the sands so other flighters could land before it grew dark.

 _“Don’t forget the oranges, Aron_ ,” Marthu said.

“ _I haven’t forgotten silly,”_ he said, unable to help how fond he sounded. _“But later.”_

 _“Very well_ ,” and then she darted through the portal, Aron’s vision blacking out for a second before he could see again.

Aron went to his room, two and a third rotations up the blue stair and put his things away. His room was dusty and smelled unlived in. He hadn’t been in this literal hole in the earth in a year. His bed was still unmade and the book he’d been reading was still on his desk. He’d been so mad the night before he’d left. Though he shouldn’t have. He knew the fate of flighters. He knew all of them wanted the same thing. Aron didn’t though, and he was in the minority. He rubbed his face when he saw his room and just left his bags there and went back to the central cone where wyrms were still landing six at a time at regular intervals.

The meeting at the central cone didn’t start until dark had fallen, before dinner. Aron and the rest of the flighter corps, as well as everyone who lived and worked at the Wyrd, meaning their women and children and the few Dodos who weren’t born to the Wyrd, were there as well. The flighters took up nearly the entire sand pit at the base of the central cone, while everyone else stood in the overhang hallway that circled it. The crowd was talkative until someone stepped up to the first purple intersection on the cone. The talking died quickly.

Jollen was a man in his late twenties, though his hair was nearly already a pure silver with just hints of black in it. His eyes were black and mean save for a halo of icy blue and his face was like a knife. Standing at the banister of the intersection looking down at them it was like he could see everything. Aron felt himself straighten a bit looking up at the Wyrm Lord, and out of the corner of his eye he saw he wasn’t the only one.

“Flighters,” Jollen called, his voice sounding across the entire sand basin, “the Feytol Conflict has begun. We don’t have to tell you that we’re sure,” no one made any snide remarks, even quietly to their friends. When the Wyrm Lord addressed the entire flighter corps and the whole of the Wyrd, you were quiet, and you listened. “We’re sure many of you are wondering who the Drake will align themselves with during the coming months. We are here to announce that officially, the Drake will be neutral.”

A soft ripple of surprise broke out through the crowd. The Drake, neutral? Aron’s brow furrowed. The Drake hadn’t been neutral in ten Conflicts, instead positioning themselves right next to the Le’Acard they backed and thathad, in turn, granted them greater power in the past few hundred years. Sometimes they gained more power because of their jockeying, and sometimes they lost it as their candidate lost the conflict, but they were never just _neutral_. 

Jollen raised his hand, the ripple settled; he wasn’t finished. “We know this might not sit well with many of you. We understand. What have we not trained you for but to fight?” and there was some muttered agreement. “The winter storms are upon the feds, the Arms have been brought in to fight the conflict; we are at war, but the Drake are neutral?” Jollen asked the question everyone was thinking. “We will not ask you to stay neutral with us. All flighters will be allowed to align themselves to whichever side they feel is the most beneficial to them or they feel has the greatest chance of success.

“You may leave, and fight in this conflict, but know that if you leave, the Wyrd is not your home until the conflict has concluded. If you leave, you leave until you are dead, or we have a new Asuras. You will not fight in the name of the Drake, you will fight in name of yourselves. Those found disobeying us on this regard will be stripped,” and there was a collective gulp. “The Drake will not take part in this conflict.

“That is all we have to say in this matter. Leave if you desire, or stay. Those who chose to leave and fight, may Perunaz watch over you,” and then he crossed himself, thumb touching each shoulder and then his forehead. The corps mimicked him and Jollen stepped away from the railing, going back up to his apartments further up the cone.

The talk was instantaneous. The Wyrm Lord had just given them all free leave to go and fight in the conflict for whichever prince or princess they saw fit. Of course that meant that friends could all be going to fight for different Le’Acard, which would no doubt stay the hands of many from going to fight, not wishing to do battle with their friends and brothers. But Aron saw not a few flighters instantly head up the stairs to their rooms.

For himself Aron had no political agenda, and in fact didn’t worry himself much about politics. He was a post flighter for gods’ sake; a lofty, prestigious, position for a flighter and their wyrms. But he didn’t like fighting. But mail didn’t get delivered via flighter during a conflict. Too many accidents in past conflicts of wizards shooting innocent post flighters from the sky thinking they were aligned with whichever Le’Acard that wasn’t their own. So Aron was just going to sit this out and wait out the conflict, since most of his friends _were_ soldiers, and he didn’t want to pick the wrong side.

“You just going to stand there with a stupid look on your face all day or what?”

Aron started and spun, coming face to face with a man he hadn’t seen in a year. He hadn’t even heard the big man approach. He thought he’d have more time before he had to be face to face with Kallas. “What?”

“You coming, or what?” Aron was still reeling from suddenly being confronted with the man and didn’t react or respond. They waited a few seconds before leaving in annoyance.

“What? Kallas, wait,” he finally found his voice and followed after the other flighter as the corps started to dissipate from the sandy bottom. He hadn’t seen Kallas since he’d started his assignment in Ire a year ago and he _swore_ Kallas said he’d punch him in the face next time he saw him. Something about taking the easy assignment. But no punches, not yet at least. “Kallas what are you talking about?” he finally caught up to Kallas at the red stairs and grabbed his arm. People were moving now, coming and going and going back to what they’d been doing or to prepare to leave.

Kallas turned and looked at him, “You’re coming right?” he asked, at least not standing in the middle of foot traffic.

“Coming? Coming where?” Why was this man so _frustrating_ and confusing? He’d never met a man who confused Aron as much as Kallas did. He burned hot and cold but despite a few years of age difference he had been closer to the older man than he had been to some of his classmates.

Kallas’s pretty coastal face scowled and made him look ugly. Just enough Aldashi in him to lighten up his Nedalian skin, and of course he was beautiful with soft features and large eyes and an elegantly shaped nose. With Aldashi and Nedalian heritage there was no way he couldn’t be pretty and almost looked like Andonine had taken special interest in his creation to make him beautiful. Though say that to his face and he’d kick your ass right out of Dodorum. His nearly black hair had thick silver streaks in it and his amber eyes always seemed extra bright against the dark gray of his scleras. At least people could see Kallas’s eyes, Aron’s were dark all the way through and you could barely tell where his iris even was.

 “I’m going to serve time,” Kallas said, like it was obvious, “aren’t you?”

“No,” Aron said.

Kallas frowned deeper. “What a waste of a Drake,” and then Kallas was gone and Aron was left even more confused. He still didn’t know what was going on. Kallas expected him to pick a side to fight for? He didn’t even _know_ the sides. How could he chose which side of the conflict he wanted to join if he didn’t know what he was joining?Kallas knew exactly what he was going to do. That or he was making a rash, uninformed choice. Knowing Kallas it was probably the latter.

“ _Is everything all right_?” Marthu suddenly asked gently.

“ _I don’t… know_ ,” Aron admitted, still standing at the bottom of the stairs where Kallas had left him.

“ _Aron should follow him_ ,” she said gently.

Very rarely were wyrms wrong about things, so Aron did. He knew exactly how many rotations Kallas’s hall was up from the floor, three and a quarter, and saw Kallas’s form disappearing down the red lit hallway when he got to the right landing. He followed him to his room and knocked. Kallas didn’t answer. Aron rolled his eyes and tried the door. It was, of course, open. Kallas wasn’t good at locking his door. But then neither had Aron been until he’d moved to Ire. There an unlocked door would be opened and all your things stolen quicker than a trip to Galinsum. It’d only happened once before Aron remembered to always keep everything locked.

Kallas had a bag open on his bed and was in the middle of undressing his armor mannequin, undoingthe buckles and straps of his flak jacket. Aron didn’t look too hard around the room, but he could knew the smell of a woman when he smelled it. He didn’t want to remind himself why he’d been angry a year ago. Aron closed the door loud enough for Kallas to hear. “Heard of knocking?” Kallas asked, not turning.

“I knocked,” Aron said, “as usual you didn’t hear it. Now are you going to talk to me or be weird still?” he asked and Kallas finally turned around.

“Weird?”

“I’m gone for a year and the first thing you say to me is to ask if I’m going to go to war. Not, ‘hey Aron, long time no see I’m not going to punch you like I threatened to’ or ‘we need to talk’. What the hell? I mean I know you don’t have _that_ much northern blood in you to make you forget how to act properly to your friend,” Aron huffed, still sort of mad at him and also hoping… Kallas did consider him his friend still.

Kallas grimaced, “Okay, I might have been a bit rushed. But I wanted to get out of here quickly.”

“Why? The conflict’s not going anywhere,” Aron frowned at him.

“Every side is going to need flighters. I want to be one before too many show up, and the more that go to a side, the more others will back it, so they don’t have to fight their friends.”

“So, who’s side are you joining?” Aron asked.

“Tallalsala, obviously,” Kallas said.

“Really?” Aron put his hands on his hips, “Because I heard from the boys in Assarus that her army is full of witch doctors and clansmen.”

Here Kallas hesitated, “That can’t be right. Who’d actually align themselves with the Clan?” he squinted at Aron like he was tricking him.

“Not someone you want to back,” Aron said and then went over to Kallas. “So why don’t you just sit on your allegiance for another week or so, wait for something to happen?” and he hesitated then put his hand on Kallas’s shoulder. “Its the harvest anyway, and I’m sure Jollen would rather his men home to help the women in the groves than out fighting in the Le’Acard’s damn conflict. And shouldn’t you tell your wife you’re leaving?” And he knew Kallas had a wife now too because he could see the crib against the back wall.

Kallas looked conflicted. Aron knew Kallas was a flighter through and through. He was practically _born_ to ride a wyrm, born to fight. And this was probably the biggest war they’d see in their life, the Federation too afraid to send anything substantial over the top of the Spine or through the nearly impossible to transverse Balintine Graveyard in more than fifty years and two High Kings. There was no great war to fight in, no fighting outside some border skirmishes to test your skills. Except of course the Feytol Conflict. It could be a once in a life time opportunity before the next one. Or at least fifteen years, but then they’d both be old men who should be guiding wars, not fighting in them.

“He would,” Kallas finally agreed. “But the-

“Just wait,” Aron told him kindly, “feel it out. No need to rush into it. Let the boys fresh to their wings rush off to get a spot with one of the heirs. They’ll probably end up being mail men anyway for a while yet. You’re a Wyrm Master, Kallas. No one’s going to stop you from going to war.”

Kallas frowned, “I… You’re right,” he sighed. “As usual.”

“I tend to be,” Aron said.

Then Kallas punched him in the shoulder. “I told you I’d punch you,” he said.

“You didn’t even remember that till I reminded you!” Aron yelled at him, staggering back, when flighters hit, they hit hard.

“I totally remembered. I just was letting you off easy. You bringing it up made me punch you, I can’t back down from a threat.”

“You fucking-“ Aron growled. “Go grow a citron, Kallas,” he spat and then stalked out, startling a wyrm mother with her small child who was about to open the door. He glared at her, now in even a worse mood than before. He stormed down the hallway back towards the central cone. Stupid, worthless, fight happy, flighter. Wyrm Master indeed.

 


	32. Romantic Bones

 

It was Asumsest and for once the sky was clear. Lugalsta was approaching soon, the official start of winter and the day marked on the feylon calendar as the day Sinou the first died. But unlike other years the city wasn’t preparing for the festivities of Lugalsta. Rather the city was still quiet, hushed and hoping war came quickly and quietly, so they could move on with their lives. And probably so they could have their loved ones back who had sided with the Le’Acard, if those ever came back. This war wouldn’t end quickly. It’d be drawn out and would be a burden for the entire country. The aftermath of whoever won would be a bitter pill for the winner, since they’d have to deal with the bad harvest. Though at least their promises would be paid.

Spayar was standing with Narn in the front of the Palace. As usual Spayar was bored though at the least was here on his own violation. He didn’t follow Narn around anymore unless Tallalsala ordered him to clean up whatever mess Narn had made that day. He wore his northsman clothes still, and he was just glad they weren’t color, even if the style made him feel awkward. They were waiting for a coalition from the city of Mur to arrive.

Though calling Mur a city was generous, it was more of a school that people had set up shops and houses around. Mur was where the Wizen conglomerate was centralized, the academic center of the magical world in the Alliance. You had to pay to get in but even poor children could get scholarships to attend if their skills were good enough or if magic was something they wanted to pursue. Mali had gone to Mur after their public schooling, but Spayar never had. Tassa had had private tutors her father had paid for, more talented masters than what you’d normally find at Mur.

And calling the wizards coming to the palace a ‘coalition’ might have been a bit generous as well. They were the wizards Tallalsala had convinced at some point to side with her. Though few those people were. She had Clan witch doctors and most wizards would rather eat their own foot than be associated with Clan witch doctors or to some lesser prejudice, Foot shamen.

Spayar had no idea what to expect from these incoming wizards. He hadn’t even known they were coming until he’d gotten a letter slid under his door this morning about it, stamped by the office of the spymaster. Spayar had only seen the seal on a few documents from his own informants who also worked for Aklin and shared what they had with Spayar sometimes. It had been in an easy to read cipher that just required the addition or removal of the gender specifier to the staff in order to be read correctly. So now Spayar was here, and Narn looked none to pleased about it. Too bad for him really.

Honestly Spayar was more interested in the letter than the wizards. Aklin had fled with Virilia and as far as Spayar had been told Aklin had the only stamp. It could have been a forgery, but the stamp was so rarely seen or used that he didn’t know why anyone would even bother. Putting it on a lot of documents would, it anything, delegitimize the stamp. So having the stamp was almost pointless and redundant. Except when you wanted to make a point.

Or make someone trust you.

Spayar was wary of Aklin. He was a competent spymaster in everything except the fact that nearly everyone _knew_ he was the spymaster. Spayar had asked one of Aklin’s spies once why that was and they said because if you have nothing to hide no one can hurt you. Sounded like some pretty good advice honestly. He’d have to watch out for Aklin if he could be with Virilia but still sending Spayar messages.

“Finally,” he heard Narn said softly and that drew Spayar from his own thoughts. Coming up the drive was no small line of horses and carriages. A few dozen at least but probably not more than a hundred.

“I wonder which one Tallalsala will appoint archmage,” Spayar said plainly and glanced at Narn when the man started glaring at him. For what besides his existence Spayar had no idea.

“Whoever it is is no concern of yours,” Narn growled.

Spayar looked at Narn like he was an idiot, which wasn’t that far from the truth. “I’ll be working with them, I think I should know who they are,” he said. “I mean we all can’t wait for Tallalsala to tell us what to do before we do it,” and he looked away. He felt more than saw Narn wanting to smack him, but Tallalsala had told Narn to back off. Spayar would have stabbed the man if he hit Spayar again though.

The front of the line of horses came up the drive and stopped. Spayar pulled his magic up over his eyes to see who was probably the strongest. Some of them were weak little flames, barely more than candles. A few blazed like fires. But he didn’t see any that seemed strong enough to be an archmage. They were probably all stronger than any of Tallalsala’s witch doctors. But an archmage?

A man approached and Spayar dropped the magical sight. He was handsome but almost _too_ good looking with large brown eyes and perfectly styled black hair that had a small braid woven into the side of his scalp. His face was without defects and Spayar sensed magical tampering, either as cosmetics later in life or his mother had had him magically altered in the womb. Spayar didn’t like him on sight because of it. He wore a black jacket with white patterns along each hem in a thick band though, making him a Master of some sort. “Who’s in charge here?” his mustache was braided on either side and fat silver beads hung down at his chin at the end of each other. He didn’t get wizard fashion at all.

“I am,” Narn said, “Archon Narn Alverin, at your service.”

“Sinoa O’Dell,” he said politely as some other wizards came up behind him. “These are my companions. We’ve come a long way for Tallal,” and Spayar didn’t miss the use of the familiar name.

Neither, it seemed, did Narn. “Tallal?” Narn’s voice was dangerous and sharp.

“Her majesty,” Sinoa said quickly.

“She’ll be happy you’re here,” Spayar said, “so far her magical allies have been lackluster witch doctors. I hope you’re more impressive.”

Sinoa narrowed his eyes at Spayar, “And who are you, boy?” he asked.

“ _D’aelar_ Spayar Hillsman.” More of the wizards and magi had gathered now and there was more than a little hushed talking about Spayar being the _d’aelar_.

“I didn’t know Tallalsala had a _d’aelar_ ,” Sinoa said slowly.

Spayar just smiled, “Her majesty is just _full_ of surprises isn’t she?”

“So it seems,” Sinoa still sounded confused.

“Her majesty is eager to see you,” Narn said, brushing Spayar off. “She’s awaiting you in the throne room now.”

“Then lets not keep her waiting,” Sinoa said. “Pleasure to meet you _d’aelar_ ,” he nodded to Spayar.

“And you as well,” Spayar said and graciously stepped out of the way so the wizards and magi could follow after Narn. He wondered if any of them were unweavers. There was still no word from Abirid on one his mother would send. Either Sawan wasn’t going to and Abirid didn’t want to make Spayar angry, or she was still thinking about it.

Spayar did his best to catalogue each wizard as they walked by. But he didn’t understand the patterns on their jackets that denounced their rank or specialty. Mali would have been able to tell him what each one of them meant and how dangerous they were. He recognized mages mainly of the main elements: earth, water, fire, and air. There were also several healers with their distinctive pale green robes, red cloth masks around their necks, some even wore them across their faces.

Then they’d all walked past and Spayar stayed right where he was. As they left a group of servants and holsters descended upon the horses and carriages. Spayar watched them quietly as they unloaded bags and saddle packs, arguing over what names were and who was called what so they’d know where to direct their guests when they were ready to retire. None of them noticed Spayar or paid him any mind when he followed them back into the palace.

Rooms were found and windows thrown open to air out the stuffy rooms and let in the last autumn air. Trunks and bags were left at the feet of beds and soaps and shampoos and towels were left in bathrooms. Every room got a vase of flowers that judging by the way the servants talked was how they were able to tell the rooms apart. Blue-Robe-Yellow-Dashes got sunflowers with tiny blue wild flowers, where Healer-Red-Hair got long stemmed red roses and in some way they all corresponded to what they looked like. An ingenious system honestly.

Spayar was able to walk amid them so long as he didn’t get in the way. At least until he ran into Modin. His hair was even more grey than it had been two weeks ago but he didn’t seem stressed out like Spayar expected the palace headman to be. “What are you doing here?” he asked when he saw Spayar.

“Just watching,” Spayar said. Modin eyed Spayar up and down.

“Stay out of the way of my people.”

“I am,” Spayar said, “You know anything about the wizards in your domain?” he asked. Servants liked to gossip that Modin knew everything. He knew when you slacked off and which rooms needed to be cleaned after a particularly ‘adventurous’ night previous. He knew the names of everyone currently staying in the palace and had memorized countless annoying things like the menu for the next week and exactly what color drapes went in which set of windows and how the sheets should be coordinated with them. Man after Spayar’s own heart since Modin was the only man who had to know as much specific information as Spayar.

“What’s it to you?”

“Curious,” was all Spayar said.

“I just know they’re going to give me trouble,” Modin’s sour face soured further. “Witch doctors and wizards don’t mix. Keep those Clan heathens out of my palace and those _buffoons_ away from the clansmen.”

“Buffoons? The wizards?”

“What else?” Modin huffed.

“Surely it won’t be too bad if they mix,” Spayar said slowly.

Modin squinted at him, a sharp, cunning look that ripped right through him. “Don’t tempt Can’dhe boy. She’ll give you more than you bargained for.”

“Good advice for Tallalsala then. I should tell her.”

Modin continued to squint at him, “You just love being difficult don’t you?”

“I’ve been known to.”

“Mister Dadrin,” someone came up to the two of them. They were dressed commonly but not like a palace servant. Their eyes darted to Spayar and then away. “You’re needed urgently.”

“What? I’m busy,” Modin said hotly.

“Something amiss with the wash, sir,” the woman said, again glancing at Spayar.

“Can’t get a moment of peace around here,” Modin harumphed. “Fine. You,” he turned back to Spayar, “stay out of my peoples’ way.”

“Of course,” Spayar said.

“Lead on,” Modin said and the woman, who seemed extremely nervous did her best not to dart away, but rather fluttered around Modin trying to make him walk even a bit faster. Spayar watched them go. Something told him he’d just seen something strange, but he didn’t know. What had that all been about?

Spayar stayed amid the servants for a bit longer until a runner came up to him. “Yes?” he asked.

“Her majesty summons you.”

“For what?”

“She just summons you.”

“Where? The throne room? Her rooms?”

“The Palace gate,” the runner said.

“Very well. Thank you,” and he walked off. The runner went off the other direction. Spayar moved between the quickly working servants and down the hall towards the Palace entrance. There was no one out here though. Then he turned and saw coming from the stables a convertible carriage being pulled by several golden horses, each with tall white socks and white dapples on their rumps. A guard was around it, including the new head of the King’s Guard Chevron. He didn’t see Narn.

Spayar waited while the carriage and its escort approached. “What’s going on?” Spayar asked Chevron.

“Her majesty fancied a ride since the weather is good,” Chevron said. “She should be along shortly.”

“Wonderful,” Spayar muttered, looking away and back into the Palace.

They waited a few more minutes before Tallalsala appeared, succulent in a dress the color of pomegranate flesh and dripping in sapphires, the jewels in a pattern on her form fitting dress to show off her flattering curves and sparkle in the light making her look like flickering lightning.   The medallion of office was pinned in her hair, a golden disc the size of a man’s palm with a perfectly engraved image of a unicorn in front of a crossed sword and scepter, a river running beneath it.The insignia was surrounded by every color gemstone. He doubted it was the true Asuras medallion, but it was a good replica on such sort notice at any rate.

Behind her came three of her ladies in waiting, one of who was Calli, walking with a cool, aloof, air to her despite her grotesquely, badly tailored, dress. Spayar’s lips twitched, they really were cut from the same tree sometimes. Behind the ladies in waiting was Narn, shoulders hunched and sulking, and several of the magi. And the reason Narn wasn’t walking with Tallalsala was because her hand was currently resting on the arm of Sinoa. Spayar smirked to himself. No wonder Narn was sulking.

“Your majesty,” Spayar said when Tallalsala approached.

“Ah good, you’re here,” she said.

“When you call, _donalim_ , I come,” he said pleasantly. That cheered Tallalsala up considerably. Simpleton.

“Everyone’s as you wanted, your majesty,” Chevron said from horseback.

“Excellent,” Tallalsala said and gave Spayar a look. Oh so this was how it was going to be. He stepped over to the carriage and opened the low door. A _d'aelar_ reduced to being a footman. How utterly embarrassing and demeaning.

Tallalsala approached the carriage and Spayar offered her his hand and helped her up into the carriage. Sinoa followed after her, as did Narn, the magi were given horses. The ladies in waiting didn’t come until Tallalsala said, “Come along Calli.”

Calli approached the carriage and Spayar without looking at either of them. Spayar was so proud of her in that moment, standing so tall and poised before these people. Her makeup was still garish, the white foundation laid down thick, and the colors bright and clownish, but Calli didn’t let them touch her. Spayar offered his hand to her to help her up. She lifted her too long skirt Tallalsala had given her to make her trip, and took his hand.

Only once she was on the first step did she look at Spayar, _“Novokuta_ ,” she said. Spayar blinked and tried not to let his confusion show. Gods he was so out of touch with his Dirnine. She stepped up and into the carriage, but kept looking at him.

Then it came to him, “ _Novokaem esm_ ,” Spayar said as Calli was sitting next to Tallalsala. Calli had just asked him to pray with her, and he said he would. “ _Novoka_ ,” he said and Calli smiled at him.

“What was that?” Tallalsala asked sharply.

“I’m simply saying hello to my brother, your majesty,” Calli said elegantly. “Its been so long since I’ve seen him,” she didn’t have to fake her sadness.

“You couldn’t have done it in feylian?” Tallalsala asked as Spayar closed the carriage door.

“I’m sorry but there is no word in feylian for how much I miss and love my brother,” Calli said. “And since Dirnine is the only other one I know, it’ll have to do.”

That seemed to cool Tallalsala down a bit. Spayar moved to go sit on the back of the carriage. “Are you ready, your majesty?” Chevron asked.

“Yes,” Tallalsala said.

“You’re the _d’aelar_ ’s sister?” Sinoa asked as the carriage started down the drive, the guard on their sides and the magi accompanying the princess rode behind.

“Yes,” Calli said. “His much prettier sister,” and that made both Sinoa and Tallalsala laugh. Narn was too busy sulking about being replaced by a new man to pretend to even care. “But don’t blame him he takes after our father too much.”

“You must be honored to serve as Tallal’s lady,” Sinoa said.

If Calli flinched Spayar missed it, but he didn’t think she did. “Her majesty has been far too kind to me since the coup,” she said. She looked back at Spayar, “To the both of us,” she said.

“Yes,” Spayar agreed as Calli turned back around. “And now that you and the others are here maybe we can start making some headway in this conflict. The Clan are starting to grow restless.”

“Right… the Clan,” Sinoa sneered and from the front of the carriage Narn glared at Spayar. Oh oops. Was he not supposed to say that? Oh well.

“The Clan are under my purview,” Tallalsala said, “my mother could never see eye to eye with them. But they follow me willingly,” Spayar looked away to roll his eyes. The Clan followed Tallalsala because she was the only one foolish enough to side with them. “And you know how hard they are to get to behave. But I’ve had no mishaps,” again Spayar rolled his eyes out of their sight.

The talk down to Fey’s Shadow and into the city was boring. Talk of Sinoa’s journey with the other magi from Mur. Uninteresting and to Spayar unimportant. The Wizen weren’t a house, so every wizard, magi, and summoner of natural or synthetic magic was free to choose their own side. He wondered what the wizards looked like for Von’s side. He knew X’vazior was with them, would the praetor be mustering forces? He needed to get to Alderin as soon as he could once he was sure Calli was safe.

They left Fey’s Shadow and passed through South Side to enter Swan Box, taking the gentle river road towards the east _Weyling_ Bridge. Unlike the road in Tradesmen the river road was flat and there were large potted plants every fifty feet of sidewalk that ran along the top of the wall that held back the Meltong. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where they were going; Swan Island.

The _Weyling_ Bridge was down for Asumsest, and Spayar could see boats bobbing in the water upriver. It was the nicest bridge in Assarus, made of stone by brick layers, stone magi who took up architecture and building as a profession. There was no mortar in the _Weyling_ Bridge, instead at every post was a stone foci made rose quartz that glowed gently day and night from the powers woven deep inside the gemstone. The foci and gravity held the bridge up but the foci kept the bridge spotless. Dust didn’t settle, stains didn’t last more than a few hours, and the rock was as smooth, polished, and flat, as it had been the day the brick layers had formed the bridge. The foci also allowed the bridge to he retracted back and forth when ships had to pass under it, and reform once it was gone. All you needed was a terramancer of some sort to control the main foci at the north end of the bridge. It had been a gift to the Alliance from the country of Datil, which became a province eighty years later. Apparently _Weyling_ meant ‘graceful’ in Datint and the _Weyling_ bridge certainly lived up to its name.

Of course, it was also just a bridge. Tallalsala and Sinoa talked while they crossed it, paying the thing no mind. To them it was nothing, just some stone to hold them up.

Once they’d crossed the bridge they stopped at the eastern stables. Here the horses would be tended until they came back. Spayar slid off the back of the carriage and opened the door. He helped Tallalsala down, her dress just high enough to not brush the ground and wouldn’t drag in the mud. Sinoa and Narn followed, stepped down onto the damp earth.

“I haven’t been to a temple center in some time,” Sinoa said as the other magi were dismounting from their horses. Spayar helped Calli down from the carriage, her long skirt fell right to the ground. It would be muddy by the time they left.

“Really? They don’t have them at Mur?” Tallalsala asked.

“If you want to pray there are priests from every god there. Just find one and they’ll show you their alter. Perhaps you could remind me what to do?” he asked Tallalsala with a charming grin.

“It would be a pleasure,” Tallalsala said and Sinoa offered her his arm. “Calli, keep close,” she added sharply to his sister.

“Yes, your majesty. I will follow behind the wizards, if that’s all right?” Calli asked.

Tallalsala looked at Calli, then at Spayar, then she looked at Calli’s neck as if to remind Spayar that she could kill Calli at any time. “Very well,” she said and they she guided Sinoa away. The parade of wizards followed.

Narn was still sulking, and didn’t seem to want to move. “What’s the matter, sir?” Spayar asked him cheerfully.

“Shut up Hillsman,” Narn spat and stomped after Tallalsala and Sinoa.

“He doesn’t like you,” Calli said and Spayar took her hand, laying it on his arm and they followed after the procession with a five foot buffer.

“I’m afraid not,” Spayar said. Calli looked at Spayar, and said something in Dirnine. Spayar winced. “I’m out of practice, talk slower,” he said pathetically.

“What’s this? Something my perfect brother isn’t good at? I’ll have to tell mother, she’s constantly telling me I should be more like you,” she teased him.

Spayar groaned. “Don’t be annoying,” he said.

“ _When are we leaving_?” Calli asked and he knew she was speaking very slowly. “ _I miss mama and papa_.”

“ _I know_ ,” Spayar leaned over and kissed her temple as they walked under covering of wood and creeping vines towards the outer ring of temples on Swan Island. “ _I’m working on it_.”

“ _I’m scared_ ,”her grip on his arm tightened.

“ _An unweaver is coming. They’ll free you,_ ” he said, doing his best not to stumble over his words. “ _And I need your help_.”

“ _With what?”_

They passed the outer ring of temples and were going to start with the central six. There were a ton of people out today. And they all were looking forward at where Tallalsala was walking. They knew her instantly. Only unlike Von she didn’t stop for them, or seem to care. She wasn’t here for them. “ _I… can’t read Dirnine_ ,” he admitted and hung his head a bit. Calli giggled. _“Don’t,_ ” he gave her a look.

“ _What is it_?” she asked.

The distance between the second and inner ring of temples was much less than that between the second and outer ring. The front of their procession had arrived at Anceion’s temple. The feylon all went in. Spayar pulled Calli to the side. “This _,”_ he said in a whisper and reached into an inner pocket  of his jacket and pulled out the letter their mother had sent. “Its from mama,” he said.

Calli nearly snatched it out of his hand and then checked the back of the page. “See these here?” Calli asked him in feylian in a whisper, turned towards him, she  was pointing at three dots arranged in a triangle on the top of the page.

“Yes?” Spayar hadn’t noticed them when he’d tried to read the message. But then he hadn’t looked too hard since he couldn’t read it anyway.

“Its Dirinnan code.”

“…What? How do you know this and I don’t?”

“Because you were off being amazing and I was stuck at home,” Calli rolled her eyes. “Mama and papa used it before they moved. Do you have some paper, a pencil?”

“Yes,” Spayar grunted reached into his jacket for his notebook. “But what does the letter say?”

“It says: my precious son and daughter, we’ve arrived in Gorum safely. I’m sure the princess is treating you both well, may she live always in the sky lands,” and Spayar smirked at that. Dirinnan ideas of the Shadowed Lands was different than feylon ones. Dirinnans believed that the Shadowed Lands were quite literally the stars and night sky, where the feylon thought it more like Gala, only different, though the differences varied depending on what province you were in. Though it was agreed there was no ‘sky’, but rather the earth reflected upon itself like a vast mirror, the sky was only for the Bright Lands and the living.

“I know you will both know what needs to be done,” Calli continued, barely above a whisper. “We will have big dinner when we see you again, I will make all your favorites. I pray that this Conflict does not linger like the war back in Dirin. I hopethat it will end quickly and that the right Le’Acard is on the throne. I wish that you were here with us now. I wish this so much and I hope you wish it too. We will be waiting for your return my sweet children, I pray that I will see you soon to hold you in my arms once more.

“Love, mama, papa, Anora and Duren,” Calli finished.

“We’ll see them soon,” Spayar said softly as the feylon came out of the temple. Calli thrust the letter at Spayar who put it behind his back quickly.

“Ah, this was where you went,” Tallalsala said looking at them, still on Sinoa’s arm. “You didn’t wish to pray?”

“No offense your majesty, but dirinnans do not use temples to pray,” Calli said, bowing her head. “My brother and I have our own way.”

“Huh, very well,” and she guided Sinoa away.

As they walked away they both heard Sinoa say, “The Dirinnans must practically be heathens to not have temples.” Next to him Calli squeezed his arm, hard. They both used temples sometimes, Calli more than Spayar. But their parents never went to temples.

“ _Prick_ ,” Calli said in Dirnine.

“Calli,” he hissed, “ _language.”_

_“But Spayar-_

_“He’s an asshole,”_ and that made Calli giggle as they followed the princess and her entourage. “ _So about the note,”_ Spayar said, “ _and the code?”_

 _“Mama told me before she and papa moved to the Alliance they couldn’t see each other a lot because of caste differences_ ,” Spayar nodded to indicate he was still following even with his terrible Dirnine. “ _So they made up a code to tell the other important things in one letter. Isn’t that romantic_?” she asked him.

“Uh… _I guess?”_

 _“You haven’t got a romantic bone in your body do you,”_ Calli huffed.

“ _I am very romantic thank you_ ,” Spayar said frowning, _“But covert and secret affairs aren’t one of them.”_

 _“Well I think so,”_ she said.

 _“I won’t tell you you’re wrong,_ ” he said, even if Spayar thought she was. “ _The code_?” he prompted as they walked around the edge of a puddle, Spayar’s boots getting muddy and he was going to make sure Joy made Calli’s dresses and skirts the _correct_ length so they wouldn’t get all muddy.

“ _Three means every third letter is the code. Its simple_ ,” she shrugged, _“I just need to see the letter again, I’m not good at doing it without writing it down_ ,” and they watched the princess and the others go into the next temple. Spayar and Calli stood between the next two temples and Spayar frowned when he saw it was where the shrine to Densinn was. “ _Let me see it_ ,” she said.

Spayar took the letter from his back pocket and his notebook and pencil and handed them to her. He held the note while Calli wrote out every third character on the notebook. Then she circled groups of letters on the page that formed words, but the entire thing was lost to Spayar. He promised himself he’d brush back up on his dirnine when he and Calli went to Gorum before he went to Alderin because _he_ should be able to do this too. “So?” he asked when she’d finished, especially because Calli was frowning.

She looked at him, but then closed the book and put her hands down in front of her, holding it out of sight. Spayar crumpled the note and looked over his shoulder. They were done praying here. The feylon moved to the next temple but Calli and Spayar stayed where they were since they just stood between the two. They were going into Lemp’s temple, so they wouldn’t be long. Long enough to pay respects, but not much more than that. Several of the wizards didn’t go in, and stayed outside.

Calli handed him back his notebook and he tucked it back into the inside pocket along with the crumpled note. “What did it say?” he asked.

“Later,” Calli said.

“Fine,” and Spayar turned from her and reached into his pocket and pulled out his coin purse. Calli didn’t ask when Spayar pulled out a gold atrin and formed it into a tongue. This time it was more detailed, he could even make taste buds and the connecting vein along the bottom since he’d been using his element so much now. It was still such a farce. The last tongue he’d made was gone. Someone who didn’t fear the wrath of the gods, especially not someone as low in the pantheon as Densinn, had probably stolen it. He fit the tongue neatly into Densinn’s half open mouth and drove a golden spike into the back of the statue’s mouth and created an anchor for it so it couldn’t be taken out again.

“What are you doing?” Spayar just looked when Narn spoke. They’d left the temple of Lemp and several of the wizards had moved on to Perunez’s temple but a few had stayed and were watching Spayar curiously.

“Giving an offering, is that a problem?” Spayar said and stepped away from the shrine. Calli took his arm when he offered it as they went to follow the princess and who was her new archmage.

“To a trickster?” Narn asked, narrow eyed.

“Dirinnans do not pick their gods, the gods pick them,” Spayar said, meeting his gaze. “And I know better than to ignore someone like Densinn,” and he walked right past the Archon and was in time to see Tallalsala and Sinoa going into Perunez’s temple.

“Spayar,” Calli said as they walked.

“Yes?”

“Would you ask her majesty if we could visit the offering market? She listens to you,” and she briefly leaned her head on Spayar’s shoulder.

“I will when she leaves Perunez’s temple,” Spayar said, patting her hand. Narn shouldered past him from behind, purposefully bumping into him to get into the temple. Spayar breathed deeply, “ _I swear I’m going to kill that guy_ ,” he said darkly.

“ _You wish to kill him?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“I wish they were all dead. We’d be able to go see mama and papa_ ,” Calli lamented. “ _I miss them.”_

 _“I do too_ ,” Spayar said. They waited another minute or so before Tallalsala came out of the temple. “Your majesty,” Spayar said when she left.

“What?” she asked, eyeing him.

“My sister wanted to go to the offering market. Do we have your permission to go?”

She eyed him distrustfully, she fully expected him to do something once he was out of her sight. Seemed she was smart sometimes. “Captain Chevron,” she said.

“Your majesty,” Chevron said, coming forward, he’d been following her the entire time.

“Keep an eye on my lady in waiting while she visits the offering market,” Tallalsala said pleasantly.

“Of course your majesty,” Chevron said.

“Don’t take too long,” Tallalsala told Calli.

“Of course your majesty,” and she bowed a little, still holding onto Spayar’s arm. With that Tallalsala turned around and went about going to the next temple. Narn glared in Spayar’s direction even as he followed, he wasn’t over Spayar giving offerings to Densinn.

“What are you planning?” Chevron asked once the princess was out of ear shot.

“Nothing,” Spayar said innocently. “Shall we go then?” he asked Calli.

“Yes, lets,” and he let her guide him away from the temple rings towards the offering market along the north eastern part of the island along the river bank. Chevron followed a few feet behind them. As they walked Calli released Spayar’s arm and picked up her long skirt and bunched it off to the side and tied it in a knot so the skirt was now above her knees. “So much better,” she sighed and took Spayar’s arm again.

“I have someone making you new clothes,” Spayar said soft enough so Chevron wouldn’t hear. “Though perfectly acceptable for a lady in waiting.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Remember Joy?”

“Yes.”

“She’s making them for you. She has your measurements already. Jill told me she’ll have the first few outfits by the end of the week.”

“Wonderful, I’m tired of these long skirts,” she said.

“She’ll need to fit them before you can wear them though.” Calli nodded, “I’ll call for you when she’s ready for you.”

“Now lets just hope her _most_ royal pain in the ass doesn’t throw them out,” and Spayar laughed. “Unlike _your_ royal pain in the butt, who’s is actually rather nice-

“Hey! Calli,” he said sternly.

“I’m just teasing, Spayar,” she said, grinning at him. They’d finally left the outermost circle of temples and across the path was the offering market. Calli knew exactly where she wanted to go and Spayar just followed. They ended up in front of the sugar floss vendor. He’d never seen one of the machines before but he’d heard about them. They’d been invented by a man in the south with the help of an alchemist friend and used fire and wind foci in a large metal bowl with a spinning plate in the center. Sugar was put on the plate and then the fire foci melted the sugar and the wind foci spun the plate making the sugar shoot out towards the sides of the bowl in long delicate strands. They’d had one at school back in Galinsum, one of the journeymen had made one, and three years ago Tallalsala had had one at her naming day and it had become all the rage for about five months.

The woman selling the candy floss already had some available to buy on sticks which were stuck into a post, others were in bags and a few had been shaped into things like flowers or cats or the sun.

“Candy for Can’dhe?” Spayar asked his sister.

“Not quite,” Calli said, “The pink one please,” Calli said, pointing at the candy floss tree behind the vendor. Spayar paid; a bronze and three quarters. He knew he was overpaying, it was just sugar which you could get by the pound for three-quarter silver. But it for the novelty he supposed. “Thank you,” she told both the vendor and Spayar and as she turned away broke the weave that would protect it from the rain by taking a big bite out of the floss.

Spayar laughed a bit helplessly, “So not for Can’dhe this time then?” Spayar asked.

“Apparently she didn’t like it, because she messed up,” Calli said and pulled some off the big cloud of candy and offered it to Spayar. Spayar took it and put a bit on his tongue before shuttering. Calli laughed.

“You and Von both like your sweets I don’t get it,” Spayar said, still coming to terms with the fact that it _was_ just was just raw sugar. He handed what was left back to Calli and she gladly ate it.

“Tallalsala likes sweets too,” Calli said and they walked back out of the offering market and found a bench to sit on.

“If you’re done we should return to her majesty,” Chevron said, standing to the side looking sullen.

“Her majesty will survive without us I’m sure,” Spayar said, crossing his leg over his knee and putting his arm behind Calli on the bench. Chevron glowered at him. “Going to tattle on us captain?” he asked. Chevron just pointedly turned around and walked a few feet away, standing with his back towards him.

“Don’t be so mean to him Spayar,” Calli said, “He’s really very nice.”

“Sure he is,” Spayar grunted. He still hadn’t forgotten when Chevron had shown up and basically stolen his sister away from him that day under threat of pain.

“He believes he’s doing the right thing, just like you,” she said. “Only his calling was to someone else,” she added in a whisper. “He’s one of the few people who’s kind to me,” she said looking right at Chevron, the captain didn’t give them any notice.

“They’re cruel to you?” Spayar asked, turning Calli’s face to look at him.

“The other ladies do not care for me, that much is obvious. I’m not ‘trusted’ to do my own make up or dress myself, so they must apparently do it for me and they’re all so far up Tallalsala’s backside the princess must be able to taste it. Tallalsala tolerates me but its clear she hates me because I’m a burden to her. If anything were to happen to me-

“I would not be merciful,” Spayar said in a low, dark, tone.

“And she knows that. Narn also hates me, because I’m your sister. Others, Tallalsala’s lords and such mainly, flirt with me and then call me a prude when I reject their advances. I can’t go anywhere alone and always need someone to escort me, be it another of the ladies or a guard and my quarters are under constant watch. Captain Chevron is the only one who actually treats me like a person,” Spayar looked back at Chevron, standing out of ear shot to give them privacy, his own fancy cape covered in mud at the edges. “He accompanies me the most, even though he has other duties.”

“He probably fancies you,” Spayar said, not looking away from the captain’s back.

“Maybe,” she said, “but at least he doesn’t treat me like a prize to be won, or a conquest to be bedded. He treats me like a lady.”

Spayar looked at her, “And you should be treated as nothing less,” he said firmly.

Calli ate her sugar floss in silence and once she was done licked her fingers clean before leaning her head on Spayar’s shoulder. “ _Novokuta de-de?”_ Calli asked.

“What are we praying for?” Spayar asked softly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and she pressed against him. She seemed so small next to him there. He knew she could handle it and was doing her best, but it was a struggle for both of them.

“To be away,” she said softly. “ _Novokuta_?”

“ _E’ton, esm_ ,” and he kissed the top of her head. They both reached up to their faces, pressing their thumb, fore and middle fingers to their cheeks and between the eyes. The Dirinnans called it the _Dehhavonevotas_ , and connecting those points in the head not only made your prayers louder, but were said to give you some form of clairvoyance. _Dehhavonevotas_ literally meant the Third Eye and in Dirin there were always stories of people being more with a third eye in the middle of their foreheads, or born a cyclops, with one eye that could see both the present and the future. Spayar didn’t believe any of the stories his parents had told him about people with three eyes or just one, but he didn’t dispute that his parents could be right. His was just a different belief.

Spayar prayed to be away. He prayed to Jat’tal, the god of swiftness and messages to take them away. He also prayed to Can’dhe for their fates to be rewoven and to be brought away from the horror they were faced now. Spayar even sent a prayer to Densinn; see me, he asked. See me and know me and help me, for I am your vassal. Do not abandon me now when I need you. 

When Spayar felt he’d prayed enough to put his hand down. Calli was still praying, her other hand clutching Spayar’s. He just waited until she was done. “Thank you,” Calli said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Spayar said softly, “not until I get us out of this mess.”

She nodded, “I believe you will. I prayed you’d figure it out, since I’m not…

“Hmm?” he asked, tilting his head at her.

“Nothing,” and she stood. “We should get back to her majesty. Sir Chevron,” she called and the man turned to them. “We’re to find Tallalsala.”

“Good,” he said gruffly.

“Shall we?” Spayar asked Calli, offering her his arm. Calli nodded and pulled at the knot she’d tied her skirt into so it dropped to the ground. Spayar noted that there wasn’t a speck of mud on it, or on her thin canvas slippers.

“Lets go,” Calli’s voice distracted him as she put her hand on his arm. “Before she thinks we’re treacherous,” and they started to walk back towards the temples. Spayar said nothing but Calli understood the look he gave her. They _were_ treacherous.


	33. Wishweaver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well....
> 
> I see you guys reading, cause the hits are going up.
> 
> Little feed back would be nice :T

When the morning light filtered in through the thin curtains of her room Calli woke. When she opened her eyes she saw her lavish room. The plush chairs, the jeweled vanity with all its powders and potions and creams, the comfortable four poster bed with sheets made of the softest cotton she’d ever felt. Most people would have seen the lap of luxury. All Calli saw was her cage.

With a sigh she sat up, pushing her hair out of her face and pulling it back into a practical tail like she used to at the florist she worked at. Sometimes she dreamed in flowers, and taking the cart down to Swan Island to barter wares. Her patrons were always the gods but when she woke she couldn’t remember if they were Alliance gods or Dirin gods. In the end she supposed it didn’t matter too much. They were all the same, they just wore different masks or cloaked themselves in different names like a comfortable old jacket.

She put her hands together, pressing the side of her hands up to her face so her forefinger was under her nose, and closed her eyes. It was like that she prayed. “I wish I was away,” she whispered. “I wish my brother will free me. I wish I had never gone to that stupid party,” but of her wishes she knew only the last was foolish. You couldn’t change the past, no one could. Not even her mother and she’d seen the woman wish things into existence and nonexistence.

There was a knocking on her door, “Calli,” Anita called. She hated Anita. She hated all of the ladies in waiting.

“I’m awake,” she called back blithely and got out of bed. Her night gown was too short, and she knew Anita put her in it because she didn’t like it. Anita also liked putting guards with wandering eyes on her door, they were the ones who checked her room every night to make sure she had nothing that hadn’t been given her. The first few days they’d touched her. On the arm, the shoulder, fingers brushing the hem of her high cut gown. They’d since learned to be wary. She’d never laid a hand on them, but when you were what Calli was you didn’t have to touch someone to make them pay.

Just little things though. Tripping on the way into her room, breaking their nose on the inside of their helmets, and gushing so much blood that a healer had been called. Or when they checked behind the curtains the rod fell, landing on them. The wardrobe had a bad foot and fallen on one. Her guards said her room was hexed.

And they were right.

Anita came in, all summer fury. Her make up was already on, and her dark blonde hair all done up with a jeweled net to hold it. Her dress was modestly cut but in such a way that it pushed up her breasts and Calli knew she wore a too tight corset. Anita thought she was fat and her boyfriend had left Assarus and joined Dellin’s side, but she insisted he’d left her for her weight. Anita wasn’t very clever, but she was by no means an idiot and seemed to know everything about everyone, a complete busy body. That was the only thing Calli could really come up with for how a twitchy, obsessive, woman like Anita had become Tallalsala’s best friend. 

It was that or the boot licking.

She looked right at Calli and wrinkled her nose. Anita didn’t like her and the feeling was mutual. “Are you just now waking up, girl?” she tutted.

Calli looked at the clock on the wall, ticking away. “This is the time I always wake up, Anita,” she said, “Unless we’re now required to wake up at the sixth bell and not the seventh to see to Her Majesty?”

Anita scowled, not liking the back talk, and not likening that Calli was right either. “You wake when you’re needed. Now get dressed Her Majesty has need of you,” she snapped.

Calli just did as she was supposed to. She went behind her changing screen and pulled on her ill fitting clothes. The too long skirts that were always clean, to both Anita and Tallalsala’s annoyances, and even when they forced ugliness on her Calli attempted to make it work. As usual her skirt was too long, it was that or one that was too short, and dragged along on the floor behind her, and nothing fit _quite_ right. The bodice was for someone with breasts much larger than her own so left the collar gaping and slack so anyone could see the top of her breasts.

“Are you done?” Anita demanded.

“Yes,” Calli said, coming out from behind her screen. Anita sat her down in front of the vanity and opened several jars. First the foundation was smeared on her skin. On light skinned women it looked fairly natural only lightening their natural tone a bit but on Calli’s dark skin it was like theater makeup. Once her face was covered in an uneven coat Anita applied the most clashing eye make up she could and rouged her cheeks to the color of apples, her lips dark and colorless brown-grey.

Calli had heard the other ladies in waiting gossip about how she looked like a corner whore. Then they’d giggle about it. Calli just kept her head up and didn’t acknowledge them when they whispered like that. Tassa told her that she was a whore, but Tassa was the most beautiful woman Calli had ever seen, sometimes Andonine wore Tassa’s face when she visited Calli’s flower stall in her dreams. Once Calli had admitted to the woman that a coworker had called her a whore for flirting with men and it had upset her. Tassa had just told her that the feylon didn’t know what a whore even was. A whore was a performer, a person with a great talent you paid silver and gold to even gaze upon. When Calli had asked what Tassa meant when she said she was a whore, because Tassa performed for no one, Tassa had just laughed and said, ‘I am a thief. And there are no greater whores than thieves, for they will steal anything with the right incentive, including more money.’

So when those women spoke behind their hands and spoke of her like Calli couldn’t hear them and giggled at her bad makeup and called her a corner street whore she just remembered what Tassa had told her. She was a whore, a performer, who was putting on the act of her life. When she looked at them cooly and their voices cut off they knew their comments did nothing to her. They were nothing to her. She’d play the part of the whore, and at night she’d wish them all to an early grave.

Anita finished Calli’s face and then twisted her hair into a perfect hair style that had Calli gritting her teeth at the ill treatment with sharp hair pulling and strands that pinched her scalp. She dared not touch her hair though, or Anita would slap her hand. Calli had learned early not to touch her hair or makeup. The day she’d seen Spayar and he’d wiped her away Anita had screamed at her. That night she hadn’t even cried, she’d just clutched her plush, luxurious, pillow and whispered hateful desires until she’d fallen asleep. At the very least Anita had broken out into a thousand pimples the next day.

“Finally you look presentable,” Anita announced and Calli opened her eyes. She’d closed her eyes as Calli Hillsman, but when she opened her eyes she didn’t see Calli Hillsman. She saw Calli the Whore.

“Thank you, Anita,” Calli said, looking at her in the mirror, “I could never have done my makeup without you,” and she gracefully got to her feet. “Is Her Majesty taking breakfast?”

“Yes,” Anita said through clenched teeth.

“I take it that’s where she needs me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I best not keep her waiting,” and she lifted her skirt some and walked past the blonde. She could feel Anita glaring after her but didn’t flinch as she left her room and headed for the tower.

—

Captain Chevron was outside Tallalsala’s door when she arrived. As usual he looked handsome, his pale brown hair cropped close, his green eyes only looked at people’s faces. For Calli he only looked at her eyes. His blue cape was folded up over one shoulder and she could see his medallion peaking out from the folds on the other shoulder.

“Captain,” she said, bowing slightly.

“Lady Calli,” he bowed to her as well.

“Her Majesty called for me?”

For a moment Chevron looked stricken, “I do not believe she’s awake. Or wishes to be disturbed.”

“But she called me. Didn’t she?”

“… Not exactly,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I asked him to tell that foul woman that,” Calli turned, looked up the stairs of the tower where the voice came from.

“Spayar,” her face broke into a smile that nearly split her face as her brother came down the stairs and joined them on the landing outside Tallalsala’s room. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?” she looked at Chevron who was looking at neither of them.

“Just come with me,” Spayar held his hand out.

She hesitated, “Will I get in trouble?” she looked to Chevron again.

“No,” Chevron said, only half looking at her.

Calli took Spayar’s hand and her brother led her back up the tower. His hand was warm in hers. “What’s going on?” she asked when they went up another floor and kept going, past Dellin’s old room.

“Von’s old quarters,” he said and Calli hated that her heart skipped a beat a little at the mention of the prince. She mentally chided herself. Von was her _brother’s_ prince. Still she’d had to have been a mad woman not to fancy the prince. He’d always treated her like the sister he’d never been able to have. He’d bought her the extravagant dress Joy had made and during the party had been so good with her and kept her by his side all night. At least until Tallalsala had killed Obi.

“Is this allowed?” she ventured.

He looked back at her, brows up, “I’m his _d’aelar_ , of course it is,” he said.

“Right,” stupid question.

They arrived and Spayar bustled her inside. She had barely any time to take in prince Von’s rooms, and she did just want to investigate all the things within it. But instead she was swept into a great, warm, hug. For a moment she thought it was her mother and nearly started crying, feeling the press of breasts against her in the embrace. Then she saw who it was.

“Joy?” she asked.

“Hello honey,” Joy said, “gods don’t you just look _awful_ ,” she turned to scolding immediately. “What does that mad woman think she’s doing here? Running a Xai carnival?” Calli giggled. “Come, lets get your fitted,” and Calli was pulled away from the door and to a stool. Her dress was pulled off but unlike in front of the guards or Anita she didn’t feel vulnerable before Joy, her sons, and her brother. She recognized one of them, the dark haired boy who’d fitted her before, but not the one with red hair like Joy. He and Spayar were by the door, talking in low tones.

Then it became an endless trial of putting on dresses, having them pinned, and taking them off again. Trying on shirts, pants, jackets, raincoats, stockings, socks and skirts. It was a full wardrobe. It had to have taken over two bells, and Calli was ravenous by the time they were done with her.

Finally she could step off the stool as Joy and her dark haired son went to work. The red haired son had left leaving on her brother. Spayar handed her her ill fitted dress and she pulled it back on miserably. After wearing clothes that fit it was like wearing a sack. “Won’t Tallalsala miss me?” she asked Spayar as he guided her over to the sofa in Von’s apartments.

“Unlikely,” Spayar said. “She got very high on storm weed and mallium last night. Or rather, she and Sinoa did,” he smirked.

“Which I’m sure you had everything to do with,” Calli said.

“Oh yes, I did,” he said. “Right in front of Narn who was kept dry of any smoke.”

“But storm weed and mallium don’t last that long… what did you do?” she leaned forward, looking at Spayar expectantly.

“I made some suggestions, prodded a bit where needed. Tallalsala didn’t go to bed alone last night, and it wasn’t with the man who expected to go.”

Calli put her hand over her mouth in shock. It was no great secret that since Sinoa had come to the Palace a few days ago that Narn had been forced to play second best to him for Tallalsala’s attention; he was furious about it. They’d both noticed the seething jealousy from the Archon towards the new archmage. Tallalsala, on the other hand, had not. “You’re _terrible_ ,” she scolded her brother.

“I know, I’m just the _worst,”_ he frowned at himself. “So for now Tallalsala and Sinoa are sleeping off a long night of drugs and lust. They won’t wake for a while. Now, what did the message from mother say?” he asked.

“Oh… I forget,” she lied. Spayar reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his little note pad, flipped to the correct page, and handed it to her. She looked down at what she’d circled and read it again.

“What does it say? What is our mother trying to tell us?”

She frowned slightly, “Spayar, I’m sorry but, it isn’t for us. Its for me and you wouldn’t understand it if I told you what it said.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? What does it say Calli?” he demanded.

“Its a message for me, all right? A secret one, I can’t just _tell_ you,” she snapped at him.

“Calli… please,” he whispered. “I want to know what _addim_ said. I can’t read Dirnine. Read it again,” and he gave her the crumpled letter. Calli stared at Spayar in slight shock. She’d never seen her brother so weak, to admit he needed to hear kind words so much. For a moment her resolve wavered and she felt the thread of her prayers tremble at her uncertainty. They sang with the unspoken ‘what if he fails?’ Stubbornly she banished those thoughts. Spayar would not fail. He _would not_. He would figure something out and the both of them would be free. But even he was a man, even he was afraid, even he needed comfort.

She got up and sat next to him on the other sofa. She mouthed a wish, that her makeup wouldn’t smear, and leaned against Spayar’s chest. He wrapped his arm around her as Calli brought the letter up and read it aloud first in dirnine, and then again in feylian. Spayar had his head bowed, listening, but saying nothing.

“And what is the secret?” he asked, “Just say it in dirnine, I won’t pay attention,” his voice was soft and gentle, the arm around her comforting. “I can’t understand it unless I focus on nothing else,” he admitted.

“Okay,” she said quietly and folded the letter back up and read the secret to Spayar in dirnine. Calli understood every word and it filled her with fire.

_Daughter of my body, my heart, my very soul, I am with you. The world will tremble at our reckoning. Your sister and I bless the air with the words of damnation every night and wish for your safe return to my arms once more. May these feylon feel the ruin that the Monarchy feels at the hands of our kin, and may they never forget, for we shall not._

“That’s it,” Calli said, “were you listening?”

“Not really,” Spayar admitted. “Read the letter again?” he asked. She did.

“Calli, dear, come here,” Joy called.

Spayar released her and she went over to Joy who sat her down and then took a warm, damp, rag and started to scrub at her face. “Joy, no,” she cried, pushing at her hands.

“Hush now. You look awful. If they insist then so shall I.”

“I’ll get in trouble,” Calli insisted, “please,” she didn’t want to get screamed at by Anita again. She’d face it but her night would be spent in anger and heart break.

“You won’t get in trouble,” Spayar said, standing, tucking away the notebook and letter back into his jacket. The weakness he’d shown earlier was gone. He was, once more, himself, unyielding as mithril.

“I will,” she said.

“No you won’t,” Spayar said cooly. “I promise,” moved away from the sofa. “Now let Joy clean that awful cake decoration off your face,” by the end his tone was gentle and he squeezed her shoulder.

“Okay,” she said and Spayar squeezed her shoulder again and let off as Joy scrubbed at her face. It felt like her skin could breathe now. “Spayar?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“I know I shouldn’t ask-

“Then why are you?”

She opened one eye to look at him, “Because I’m your sister,” she said seriously and that made him smile. “I’m also not an idiot.”

“I would never accuse you of that,” Spayar said.

“You can’t just _buy_ clothes with nothing. Right?” she directed it at Joy.

“Under normal circumstances,” she said slowly.

“Who bought me these clothes?”

“A friend,” Spayar said.

“The prince?”

“No,” and her heart dropped a bit. “Do you remember the North boy from Tallalsala’s party?”

“Vaguely,” she admitted, she hadn’t really been paying attention to Von’s friends. She’d been too interested in the prince, or in seeing her brother dance.

“Many of these clothes are his sister’s wardrobe from last year. Thusly they’re ‘unfit’ for a North to wear,” he said sarcastically. “So now we match, and both wear Northman’s clothes,” she tried to look at him better but Joy was now wiping down that side of her face. Or at least near her eye and she had to close it. “Tallalsala will _love_ it.”

“And you roped Ms. Joy into your schemes? You’re awful,” Calli declared and that made both Joy and Spayar laugh.

“I don’t mind,” Joy said, “I hate seeing such a pretty girl like you in such ugly clothes, dear,” she lifted Calli’s chin a bit. “Keep your eyes closed,” she added and patted her face dry. Then new foundation was applied. “Do you know how to do makeup?” Joy asked.

“Not really,” she admitted.

“Come,” and Joy got her to her feet and pulled her into Von’s bedroom. As expected it was clean but there was nothing very personal in it. Tallalsala might have had it all removed though. She sat Calli at a vanity and her first thought was ‘Von has a vanity?’ Then her attention was taken up by Joy explaining all the jars and powders and brushes and paint to her. In the Alliance makeup was subtle, a bit of eyeliner, some lip paint. She’d seen her mother decorate her face in the fashion of Dirinnan high ladies for her and her father’s wedding anniversary. It had involved bright eyelids and lips the color of a sunset, thick eyeliner, and a yellow and green forehead that looked like the feathers of a bird. 

Joy showed her how feylon did their makeup. The subtle color on the lids, small wings on the eye liner, enough to give the eye shape but not more. Her cheeks were rosed but not red blotches like before and unlike the candy apple red color of before the lip paint Joy had her put on actually fit her skin tone. The foundation itself also fit her skin tone and was nearly purple and gave her a strange etherial quality, and unlike the other ladies in waiting made her skin appear _darker_. When Joy was finished Calli barely recognized herself. It was like the night her mother had done her up all pretty for Tallalsala’s naming day, matching the colors with the fire color of her dress.

“There you are dear,” Joy said, beaming at her in the mirror.

“That’s me?” Calli asked. She’d been so used to seeing her face in the mirror covered in ugly white face and bad makeup.

“Yes it is, as pretty as can be,” Joy squeezed her shoulder. “Now c’mon, lets get you dressed. You’ve been here long enough, Chevron can only make so many excuses on where you are.”

“Chevron?” she asked even as Joy pulled her back into the main room. Spayar was talking with Joy’s son who was sitting on a stool sewing at a speed Calli could never hope to match.

“Lellin, you done?” Joy asked.

“Yes momma, its on the chair,” he nodded at a chair.

Joy grabbed the clothes and Calli once more stripped and Joy helped her into the clothes. It was a dress, above her knees, but just barely, and the same color as the twilight sky. The sleeves were made of navy lace and there was a black petty coat under it to give it a bit of volume. It certainly wasn’t a classic Assarus design. Lace wasn’t used this far south. This must have been a dress worn by the North daughter. There were also black stockings that went with it, up to her mid thigh and held by garters. The only thing not new were the shoes.

“And there we are,” Joy announced.

Spayar looked her over, “You look wonderful,” he told her.

“I feel so grown up,” she admitted, a bit shyly, and tugged on the hemline of her dress. She usually liked her skirts that went below her knees.

“And this as well,” and Joy put a shawl over her shoulders. “Its about as close as those Northerns get to jackets,” she tutted.

“Thank you,” Calli said.

“Now, its nine, time for breakfast,” and Spayar offered her his hand. She took it. “Thank you, Joy,” he said, “you can expect a runner from the Norths in a day or two.”

“Of course,” Joy nodded, “Lellin will finish up here and then be gone,” she nodded at all the clothes they still had to hem and sew to fit.

“No one will bother you or ask questions when you leave, the guards have been made known you’re here. I’ll have Modin send food up here for you both,” and that was that. Spayar guided Calli out and then walked out and back down the tower.

Chevron was still waiting outside Tallalsala’s door. “She isn’t awake yet?” Spayar asked.

“I just heard her get up,” Chevron said, but wasn’t looking at Spayar. “Perfect timing,” and it seemed like it was the first time the Captain had ever actually looked at her. Calli thought it was sweet, but nothing beyond that. She’d taken what Spayar had said about the Captain to heart though, that he fancied her, or maybe he pitied her.

“Excellent. Chevron, give us some privacy?” Chevron hesitated and then walked down the stairs, vanishing beyond the curve of the stair.

Spayar turned back around to Calli and took both her hands. “I have to go now. The clothes and makeup will be in Von’s rooms. No one is allowed in the rooms of royalty without permission by a key holder, so your things will be safe. You need to keep them there though. I don’t trust the other ladies in waiting to not ruin them,” and Calli nodded in agreement. “So you must wake up early, come here to change in the morning, and then come back before bed. You’re one of Tallalsala’s ladies, no one will question why you’re going in and out of the tower at that time. Understand?” she nodded again. “And if Tallalsala says _anything_ about your clothes just mention Abirid, he’s the North I was telling you about. Tallalsala is desperately trying to win him over so he says nice things to his mother, meaning she’ll accept this. You can tell her straight that Abirid got you these clothes, just like he gave me mine. She won’t raise another fuss. The other ladies in waiting…

“They’d try and make me look like a fool,” she said softly.

“Yes. You know what to do?” she nodded. “I’ll see you when I can.”

“When will that be?” she’d seen her brother three times like this since this entire mess had started, and every time he had to leave her she felt it as an ache deep in her chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, squeezing her hands. “But we will be strong. Right?”

“Hillsman do not buckle,” she said, “we are as strong as any shield.”

He smiled, “Yes, we are,” he agreed. He kissed her on the cheeks and the middle of her forehead. As he did she prayed. Free me. The wish was strong and vibrant around them, nearly tangible, but Spayar didn’t even feel it. “Don’t get into _too_ much trouble,” he winked at her.

“When is the unweaver coming?”

“Soon,” he promised. She nodded and he let her kiss him on the cheeks and between the eyes. Then he left.

Calli stood there a moment, psyching herself up, then she turned and knocked on the princess’ door. “Your majesty, are you awake?” she called sweetly. She steeled herself when she heard Tallalsala call back to her and went inside.


	34. Broken Crown

The mists had come in blanketing the entire city in the thick fine film. The mist was so thick Diylan could barely see more than a few feet in front of him, could barely see the back of Hathus’ mighty head as they flew up to the weak sun. Within the rising mists it was impossible to tell up from down or down from up except for the white glowing ball in the sky that was Anceion’s throne.

They broke free of the mist high above the top of the Mos. Here a chill gripped Diylan’s lungs when he breathed, the air coming in thin to his lungs. Hathus leaned back to position her wings so when she flapped she hovered and Diylan removed his goggles, which were fogged and coated in condensation. A cloudscape stretched out in front of them, leaking from between the cracks in the Mos to the west and spilling out in the valley where Lo-Gashuai was located. When he looked down he saw the bowl of the city filled to the brim with the cold mist that was so dense he could only see a few bright lamps and fires.

“Its freezing up here,” Gard said behind him, clutching Diylan around the waist even though his legs were locked in by the straps.

“Tends to be,” Diylan said and glanced over his shoulder. Gard was looking around, his goggles clear of fog or condensation thanks to his element. The panes flashed light across Diylan’s face as his head turned to watch the sky around them, “Still want to go?”

“Yes,” he said, pressing against Diylan’s back, nodding.

‘ _Lets go love_ ,’ he Diylan said to Hathus and Hathus leveled out and turned west towards the mountains. Gard squeezed him as they flew, afraid of falling, or buffered by the wind, Diylan wasn’t sure.

They made good time to the Mos Diylan had Hathus land within the tree line, also within the line of mists. The Mos were an old mountain range and rounded with lots of trees and were fairly short as compared to the Spine back home which were all crags and rocks and pointed peaks. Diylan unbuckled Gard and helped him down from Hathus back. Gard rubbed his hands together, flame formed between his cupped hands and he used it to create a bubble of warmth around them, also to burn off the clinging mist.

“So what are we doing out here?” Diylan asked, removing his hat and goggles. Gard hadn’t been forth coming this morning, he’d just demanded Diylan take him flying, and that he wanted to go far away, to the mountains, where no one could see them. They’d set out after breakfast.

“I wanted privacy,” Gard said.

“Privacy? We have that in the Palace,” Diylan said, following Gard up and out of the tree line to where none of the mist clung. Hathus followed behind her black eyes zeroed in on Gard.

“Ha- yes, of course,” Gard said sarcastically. “I’m a prince, not a fool. I’m sure the Go-Sana has just both watched constantly for good or bad reasons.”

“But for this you need this?” Diylan motioned to their surroundings.

“I can’t risk them asking you uncomfortable questions you can’t or won’t answer,” Gard said. “And if my siblings have spies with the lai I don’t want them to overhear what I want to do.”

“Which is?” Diylan asked, scratching at his hair in confusion.

Gard turned to him, little flame keeping them warm in the icy Mos mists still in hand, “I want you to teach me to summon.”

Diylan blinked, “Excuse me?”

“I’m want to learn to summon.”

“You realize what you’re asking right?” Diylan asked.

“Five generations ago my grandfather could summon,” Gard said, “and he won his Conflict because he had the feyrie in his ranks. I want to know how to summon.”

Diylan let out his breath in a whoosh. “Gard, I don’t think you know what you’re asking, really, and what it means for someone like you,” he said.

“I do-

“No, you don’t,” Diylan said, “Your grandfather Kabin was, by all accounts, a weak wizard. So he turned to the magic that didn’t care about the size of your belsong; summoning. And tell me, could Kabin do other magic other than summoning?”

Gard hesitated, “Not that I know,” he admitted, “But I’m a strong mage. Surely I could be an equally strong summoner _and_ mage,” he stressed. “Its happened before, in my family even. Sinou was a powerful mage a summoner-

“Sinou was also half Fey,” Diylan snapped, “Are you?”

“No,” Gard said, “But I am his blood. I can do it.”

“How about I explain to you _exactly_ what we’re going to have to do to get you to _potentially_ summon, and then you can decide if its what you want to do,” Diylan said annoyedly. That Gard thought he could just blithely say he wanted to summon _and_ use regular magic. The two magicks didn’t work together. At least not on Gala with Galian creatures. The Fey could summon and use magic, but they were from somewhere else. They’d made Gala their home for a time, too long for people at the time, and then summoned themselves away from the planet through the Break. They’d taught summoning while they’d been here and Galians had taught the Fey shapeshifting.

Summoning for a Galian was _unnatural_. It was a bastardization of the belsong, to ruin the life that Anceion had given you. Summoners didn’t live as long as other magic users either. It was said that was why flighters went silver so young. They were such active summoners that it prematurely turned their hair.

“Okay,” Gard said.

“You know what a belsong is,” Diylan said, “the physical appearance of your soul, the source of your life force and embodiment of your will.”

“Yes, duh,” and Gard looked down at the little flame in his cupped hands to indicate it. 

“Summoning is destroying that,” and Gard’s little flame flickered and he turned pale.

“What?” Gard asked, already shaken. 

“To summon you must have a malleable, tearable, belsong. This isn’t a weave like you learn in school. Say a few words and you have a spell. Nor is it about emotion and with enough pushing you can make anything happen. Those all require your belsong to be _whole_. Summoning tells you to take it apart into pieces. It asks that you tear off chunks of it and mold it like clay or form it into a noose, or roll it into a ball and throw it away from you. It is the exact opposite of any magic you’ve ever learned.”

“And it hurts, a lot.”

“Like how much?” Gard ventured.

“From texts I’ve read from female summoners from when they were children and were then grown and had their own children they say it is on par with child birth. An agony a man, who’s never gone through it, can’t possibly imagine. If you want to summon you will have to willingly submit to me and let me break your belsong. Can you do that?”

Gard’s golden skin was ashy and he looked a bit sick. “Will it always hurt?” he asked softly. “Does it hurt when you summon Hathus?”

Hathus butted her head against his back from where she was lying, blocking the wind around them. “No,” Diylan admitted. “Once your belsong is no longer so clumped together and it more likely to tear it isn’t painful. But depending on your belsong, and how large it is, or how long it takes to tune it will hurt longer.”

“But it does, eventually?”

“Yes,” Diylan said, arms folded. 

“And what about using magic?”

Diylan sighed, nothing was going to deter this kid. “I don’t know. I assume once I make the tear you’ll have to use to mend your belsong and ensure that you can still use magic. Under normal circumstances summoning robs even normal wizards their magic.”

“Have people done that?”

“I have a friend back home. He came to the Wyrd a you wizard and could do some basic things. When he got his wyrms and the tuning of our belsongs took place his magic evaporated. Summoning is other world magic, Gard.”

“My legacy is other world,” Gard said firmly. “I want to summon,” he said.

“Even though it will cause you great agony? And it might even take away your magic if we aren’t careful?”

Gard swallowed, “All my family can use magic, some of them infinitely better than I. None of them can summon. None of them can call the feyrie or…” he didn’t put words to his hope. That he could summon a Fey and they would come. There were few things as magically powerful as a Fey. Few in the modern age could stand up to a Fey if the stories about them were true. But Diylan didn’t know when, if ever, there had been Fey on Gala after they’d all gone into through the Break.

Diylan huffed and appraised him, “We’ll do it once and if I feel you can’t handle it we’re going to stop. Tearing a mage’s belsong as powerful as you could have consequences we don’t know. If anything happened to you it’d be _my_ head.”

“I understand,” Gard said.

“Alright,” Diylan didn’t like it, but he didn’t have much of a choice. “Are you a a solar, or lunar willed person?”

“Solar,” Gard said.

“Good. Hathus, give us a bit more protection from the wind,” he said. Hathus shifted and extended her wing over them, creating a sort of half dome around them, blocking most of the wind. “You’re going to want to take off your shirt,” Diylan said.

“Why?” Gard asked.

“Because I’m about to tear your fucking belsong in half,” Diylan snapped, “and you’ll need to replenish on sun light,” he went over to Hathus as Gard removed his coat and then his shirt. She lived in her saddle and Diylan usually kept a few things in a small sack hanging off the side of the gear, close to her scales. He opened the pack and pulled out a candle and a rag, then clipped it closed again.

When he turned back around Gard was shirtless, but had his coat over his shoulders to help against the cold. “Okay, now what?” he asked.

“Sit or lay down. Personally I’d suggest lying down, what I’m going to do is going to floor you no matter what.”

“Okay,” Gard sat but didn’t lay down.

“Now, once I do it you’re going to be in unimaginable pain. I don’t want you to think you need to be manly and not scream or cry.”

“Did you?” Gard asked.

“I wept like a baby and screamed till I couldn’t breathe,” Diylan said seriously and he saw hesitation flicker across Gard’s face. “Once I do if you can move get into the sun, if you can’t Hathus will lift her wing. You’ll hurt a lot.”

“You’re freaking me out.”

“Good,” Diylan said, “you should be freaked out. This is going to be an agony. Are you ready?”

Gard swallowed, “Do it,” he said.

Diylan extended his belsong along a tiny thread, straight for the center of Gard’s chest. It turned into a needle and Gard didn’t notice when it pierced his flesh. Diylan could feel Gard’s belsong, singing against his as his blood and the crackle of his nerves. When Diylan’s belsong touched Gard’s he felt it seize and become solid. A natural reaction all wizards and mages had since that was what was needed for them to use their own magic.

“Relax a little,” Diylan said.

“I’m trying,” Gard said. “I feel something weird in my chest.”

“I’m doing that. Relax, breathe. It’ll be over quickly otherwise I’ll have to snap it.”

“Snap it?” Gard’s belsong further constricted and hardened.

“Yes. Now calm down. You want this. Let me do it,” Diylan snapped.

Gard swallowed, nodded, and took a few deep breaths. Diylan felt Gard’s belsong melt and become pliant. Diylan forced a larger piece of his own belsong down the thread connecting him and Gard and turn it into a knife. It didn’t effect Gard’s skin but Diylan could see as the end of his own belsong took on an edge. Then it cut upwards, towards Gard’s neck, slicing through his belsong, effectively cutting it in half.

The reaction was instantaneous even as Diylan continued his cut up and through Gard’s head and then out into the air. Gard _screamed_ and Diylan covered his ears as the thread of his belsong slid back into him, making him whole once more. 

Diylan watched with a concerned frown as Gard fell over, convulsing, clutching his chest and then his head. There was no crawling away as he curled up on himself.

“Hathus,” Diylan said and she lifted her wing. Diylan went over to Gard and wrestled his coat off. Gard screamed again when the sun hit his skin like he was on fire. 

Diylan grabbed Gard’s face and made him look at Diylan, “You’re okay,” he said urgently. “You’re alive, you’re alive. I know it hurts. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” and then he held Gard down in the sunlight even as the prince tried to thrash out of the light, into Diylan or Hathus’ shadow. Anything to be out of the light.

This lasted for ten minutes before the convolutions stopped and Gard just lay there, panting, sweat covering his entire body, tearing running freely from his eyes. His black hair was full of rocks, dirt, and tiny twigs, his blue eyes unable to focus. But Gard wasn’t screaming anymore at least. Diylan leaned over and grabbed the rag he’d gotten from Hathus’ pack and wiped Gard’s face, neck, and chest as Hathus put her wing back over them.

Gard sighed in relief. “Am I okay?” he asked Diylan, blue eyes seeking his.

“You are,” Diylan said softly. “I told you it was agony.” Then he gathered Gard up, put his coat on and pulled the prince into his lap. 

He remembered ten years ago when he’d had this done to him. He’d been an orphan in the Wyrd, sent north from the south to avoid a feylon military orphanage. He’d had no mother, no father or siblings. But still one of the wyrm mothers in the Wyrd had come, after every trial like this, and taken Diylan in her arms to comfort him. Wyrd born boys had had their own mothers there, but orphans like Diylan had had surrogates. It had meant the world to him, that after their flight instructor had just hurt them beyond recognition that they were allowed to be comforted by the gentle touch of a mother. 

Diylan was no mother, but knew the comfort and attention was appreciated regardless. Hathus got up, moved closer, settling behind Diylan and laid down, exposing her soft, warm, stomach. Diylan leaned against it, just holding Gard as the prince burrowed in his coat and Diylan’s chest, sobbing and clutching Diylan back.

They stayed like that for several minutes. Diylan saying nothing, just quietly being a source of warmth for Gard. If Spayar ever knew or saw what Diylan had done to his prince he’d be dead on force of glare alone.

The crying stopped.

“Is it over?” Gard croaked.

“Not quite,” Diylan said and Gard groaned miserably. He picked up the candle. “Light the candle.”

Gard looked green, “I can’t,” he said.

“Yes you can. Light the candle. You need to exercise both parts of your belsong if you want to keep them. Now light the candle,” it should have been an easy task for Gard. He was a pyromancer, lighting candles was the first things someone like Gard learned as a child.

“No, it hurts.”

“Light the candle. Now,” Diylan ordered.

“It hurts to use magic, I’m going to throw up,” Gard complained.

“If you don’t light this candle _right now_ you’ll never get to use magic again. Now light the candle!”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“NO!” Gard practically screamed and Diylan’s hand nearly caught on fire when the wick of the candle went up in flame and devoured the candle instantly. Then Gard moaned in agony and huddled in his coat. “That hurt,” he sobbed, “it hurt. Why did I have to do that, Diylan?”

“So I know I didn’t break you,” Diylan said, surprisingly gentle.

“Are we done now? Please say we’re done,” he begged.

“We’re done,” Diylan said, Gard breathed out in relief. “But if you want to learn to summon we’re only done for today. One cut does a summoner not make. Your belsong’s going to need more work if you want to summon. Do you want to do that?”

Gard was quiet for several moments, “Yes,” he whispered. “I must learn to summon. I _must_ ,” he cried, wiping away his tears. “I will do whatever I hate to.”

“Even that? Every day?”

Gard really did look like he was about to vomit. “If I have to,” he said shakily.

“All right,” Diylan sighed and leaned back against Hathus again. He didn’t even know if he was doing it right. The cutting her knew was right. But was forcing Gard into the sun and then making him do magic right? He didn’t know. When his belsong had been reforged it had been deep in the Wyrd, away from any sun or moonlight. The flight instructor hadn’t _wanted_ their belsongs to grow back, to mend. His wizard friend had asked why. The flight instructor said it prolonged the agony, because the belsong resisted change. But if it couldn’t heal itself, couldn’t rejuvenate and instead had to heal around the cut and not just fuse back together, then the process was quicker.

They sat there for a while until Diylan’s ass fell asleep. “All right, c’mon,” Diylan got to his feet, pulling Gard with him. Gard’s face was streaked with tears. Diylan used the rag from before to wipe them away. Then he buttoned Gard’s thick coat back up and gathered up his shirt. “We’re going back to Lo-Gashuai,” he said.

“No more?”

“No more today,” Diylan promised. “If you’re serious about this summoning thing then we’ll be coming back here tomorrow and doing it again. And the next day, and the next day, until you can do it yourself, and then you’ll be able to summon,” again Gard looked green. “You can sleep on it. Now lets go back so we can put some food in you and you can take a nap,” and he helped Gard up onto Hathus’ back. 

Diylan sat behind this time, strapping Gard’s legs in and handing him his goggles and cap. Diylan put his on without complaint. They were bigger than ones he was used to, but the sides were opaque and made seeing difficult. He wasn’t going to complain too much though since the Go-Sana had made them for him special.

“Ready?” Diylan asked. Gard nodded, sunken into his coat. “Hathus, back to the Palace,” he said, grabbing the reins. Hathus trumpeted and walked up the mountain some before turning around and sprinting down towards the tree line. She jumped, spreading her wings, before they collided with the clinging mists, and soared up and over the evergreens. She banked gale and winged towards the valley where Lo-Gashuai was still a bowl of mist even at this bell, nothing but the tallest of the towers sticking out from the dense fog. Diylan squeezed Gard as they flew towards the city comfortingly as they hit the mist and sky and ground became indistinguishable once more.


	35. The Second Coming of Legend

It was warm, and the wind whipped up mini dust devils in the hills. They were less hills, more an undulating moor with some high land, some low land, and full of scrub and brush with pockets of ironwood in the lows and whistling dogwoods in the highs. It was the land of the sparse, but the hearty. Where the land was vast and the sky was big. Clouds gathered in rings around the Hills, bunching up close to the Spine like chastened children and stretched in long ropes along the west and south. Few clouds actually came into the Hills, at least during the winter. Spring was the only time it rained in the Hills, and even then for a brief period of time. A week, two weeks, the ground bursting forth with great growth and green for a short time before everything once more turned brown and dry.

The White Foot lived here. Had for millennia, before the Alliance had even been a though, before the Feyre Wars has ended. The White Foot were strong, capable, and held the north eastern border against all intruders with ruthless efficiency.

That was why Teldin liked them.

There were no cities in the Hills, the White Foot were nomadic, to a degree. In the spring they stretched out, tribes and families filling all of the Hills across the moor. During the less hospitable months they came together and joined together into huge tent cities that could stretch for miles. It had everything a proper city had, roads, sanitation, garbage pick up, shops,  tradesmen and a place where all the band leaders could come together and make decisions.

That was where Teldin was, sitting on a hastily assembled throne on a slightly raised platform, watching with his sharp eyes as his allies bickered. He said nothing, just watched. He’d speak when he had something to say. They were bickering about what they should do next. Their first plan of attack, what should be done about his little brother Delin- who was in the central Alliance, either within the Hook, which was part of the Northenlance, or somewhere between the Westerlance and Dogwood Road- his sister Tallalsala- they knew where she was, Assarus, the bitch had taken it from him like she didn’t know he’d have wanted it- and his infuriating baby brother Vondugard- they had no idea where he was or even if he was still alive. So far no plan forthcoming had been particularly appealing to Teldin.

Next to him his Archon Yin Thorn stood in bored attention. He was a compulsive picker and was peeling the skin from his fingers and cuticles. His hands were heavily scarred from his perverse past time of digging pieces of his own skin off. At least he didn’t bite his nails, which Teldin hated. It was a small consolation. If Yin wasn’t one of the best fighters Teldin had ever seen he wouldn’t have tolerated the finger picking.

“Do you think they’ll ever shut up?” Teldin asked Yin quietly, supporting his cheek on his fist that he rested on the arm rest.

“Doubtful,” Yin said and brought his hand up to his mouth to get at a particularly troublesome piece of skin. Teldin looked at him annoyedly and his Archon dropped his hand sheepishly. Too bad he had Yin as an Archon. There weren’t more people Teldin trusted more than Yin, but there was someone _better_ ,

Teldin would have made Spayar Archon, if he could just that damn stubborn Dirinnan _away_ from his little brother. Teldin had no illusions that all the Archons in this Conflict would be replaced at some point, and he’d just made Yin Archon because he hadn’t gotten his first three choices. The start of the Conflict had scattered them all into the wind.

But a _d'aelar_ as his Archon? People would have _flocked_ to him, begged to join his army and practically thrown themselves at his feet. His sister was a fool, his brothers were fools. They didn’t know how powerful a motivator to the common folk something like a _d'aelar_ could bring. It’d certainly give him more leverage to people calling him the second coming of Sinou. A song wizard of great power with a _d'aelar_ of awesome might and will. It could have been something out of a legend. 

Too bad Spayar was too stubborn. Though maybe Teldin hadn’t prodded enough. There wasn’t a man in the Alliance who didn’t have a price, he’d just never found Spayar’s. Maybe if he could find Vondugard and kill him he could convince Spayar to join him. He’d have to make it look like someone else did it though, and it’d have to be convincing. A lonth would work, or directing Delin onto Vondugard’s trail would work too. He didn’t even consider Tallalsala. She was too wild and unstable. Idiot had aligned herself with the _Clan_. She must have been desperate.

A runner came up to his throne, he leaned to the other side so they could speak into his ear. “Your spies have reports for you, your majesty,” they said. “Shall I send them in?”

“Which ones?” he asked.

“Three. From Assarus, Surassa and Peonia.”

“Send them in, and send for Sade,” he nodded a little, they left. Teldin stood up, none of his advisors of the White Foot leaders noticed. Teldin put his fingers into his mouth and blew a piercing whistle he’d used to train his dogs back home. The talking stopped immediately and they all turned to look at him. “We would like some peace and quiet,” he said calmly, “Decisions of this magnitude are taxing on us and we’ll be retiring for a while. If you wish to continue the conversation, please do it elsewhere.” There was a smattering of ‘yes your majesty,’ and some bowing. Teldin sat back on his throne as though tired as they left. 

“I thought they’d never leave,” Yin said, picking at his thumb.

“Hmm,” was all Teldin said, waiting. Sade entered the big tent before his spies arrived. She was his archmage and what she lacked in looks she made up for in power. She could have been pretty, but had a great port wine birth mark on her face, her eyes were colorless and bland, her hair cut nearly to the scalp, and she had no lips or curves to speak of. She looked rather like a lizard truthfully. But she was a powerful witch, weaver, and shapeshifter. 

Along with Yin she’d been with Teldin since he was a boy and they’d meticulously planned their coup to their Conflict, to capitalize on everyone’s position and kill everyone who needed to die without it getting out of hand and becoming so drawn out. Tallalsala had ruined all their plans in a single night and a foolish show of strength that was less strength and more a show of incompetence. What was it about the last two generations of Le’Acard women that was just horrible? Teldin had read about his grandmother, she’d been a proper Asuras, and knew how to rule. The people had liked her, they’d liked her son more. On one hand Teldin regretted not being his uncle’s first born, what a treat it would have been to be born by a competent human being, and on the other he was grateful since it made his victory easier.

“What do you want?” Sade asked, her voice was soft, like the wind, or a snake slithering through sand.

“Some of my important spies are bringing news,” Teldin said. “I didn’t interrupt anything did I?”

“I was dispensing some well needed wisdom to some of my underlings,” Sade said.

“Nothing too strong I hope?” Teldin asked, raising a brow at her.

“Enough,” she said and then took a squat next to his throne. “And stop that Yin, its disgusting,” she snapped.

“Shut up Sade, you aren’t my mother.”

Sade turned and glared at him, “You best be grateful I’m not or I’d whoop your ass for your disgusting habits.”

“Guys,” Teldin raised a hand between them, “Don’t argue in front of the underlings. We must be a united front. If we show discourse there will be discourse amid the ranks. Discourse leads to unhappy troops which leads to them leaving.”

“Lack of atrins lead to troops leaving,” Yin said.

“Which we have plenty of.”

“For now,” Yin put his hand into his mouth briefly and then spit out the little scrap of skin to the side. His hands were still after that, he’d satisfied his urge to pick for the time being.

“Both of you,” Teldin said sternly, “knock it off.”

“Yes, T,” they said nearly at the same time just as the tent was opened again. 

Three people entered, each more plain and common looking as the last. Brown hair, black hair, black hair, no distinguishing birth marks or blemishes. None of them had come from the cities they represented, they just read the reports and gave them to Teldin, and the spies of Surassa and Assarus were especially busy. They bowed to Teldin with a ‘your majesty’.

“What news do you bring?” he asked them. The spies looked between each other, silently figuring out who would speak first.

The one on the left started, they were the Surassa spy, “Your mother has made it to Surassa. She’s begun fortifying the city,” and Teldin hated that news. Surassa was the first city of the Alliance and it was less of a city and more of a fortress. It had been built by former slaves, the first feylon, under the leadership of Sinou, his _d'aelar_ Masalla, and his advisors. Someone at Sinou’s table, who had his ear, had been a genius of architecture and city planning. Everything was accounted for and once you got in there getting them to come out again was like trying to rip the shell off a turtle. “According to reports, for some reason, soldiers have been sent into the Break.”

“Why?” Teldin asked.

“I’m unsure at this time, your majesty,” the spy said. “I tried to get it before I came with the news, but Aklin is keeping a tight lid on it. As it is the only reason we know is because of a chance sighting of armed men going into the Break.”

“Did they come out?” Sade asked.

“Yes.”

“What else do you have other than that?” Teldin wasn’t impressed. He would let Sade worry about that mystery. There was nothing in the Break but rocks and the river. He’d been in it, there was nothing mysterious about the canyon. There wasn’t even any sign of the gate the fey had gone through shortly after the end of the Feyre Wars. It was honestly probably a diversion from what she was really doing.

“Your youngest siblings and father are accounted for to be traveling with your mother. And it appears your mother has made friends with an alchemist.” That interested Teldin, his mother hated alchemists. “They aren’t affiliated with Galinsum, but they created a war machine. They call it a bolt cannon.”

“What is it?”

“My man claimed it looked like a gigantic cross bow, but didn’t need to reload like one. I’ve asked them to draw a diagram, but we won’t know for a time yet.”

“Very well,” Teldin said.

That was the cue for the next spy, “Tallalsala’s forces have entered Assarus, they include both the Clan and civilized men. She has your sister’s head on a spike in the throne room,” and Teldin didn’t let any emotion show. He’d liked Obi. She’d been an idiot, weak, and had a hairline temper, but of his siblings he’d always wanted to kill her the least. He’d always promised himself when he killed her he’d make it as painless as possible. Tallalsala’s gruesome display when she’d just ripped Obi’s head off still made him a bit nauseous to think about. “And has one for each of you.”

“Presumptuous bitch,” Yin scowled.

“Her arch mage just arrived from Mur. A wizard named Sinoa, her Archon is named Narn. The men do not like each other.”

“Yes, anything _interesting_ though?” Teldin asked boredly.

The woman’s mouth worked a moment and then she said, “She has a _d’aelar_.”

Teldin leaned forward in his throne, “She has a _what_?”

“That is the rumor in the city,” she said quickly.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know their name. My men haven’t been able to get into the Palace since the coup, they only hear the rumors.”

“Which _are_?” Teldin growled.

“They say he’s black. Nedalian or Talerinin or even Hajock. I know for a fact he rides a war horse, but isn’t a knight and he appears to be friends with the Norths. Recently Tallalsala went out into public to worship and he came with her. He had a lovely black girl on his arm and spent the entire day with her. There’s apparently a rumor in the stables that he’s the reason that the Ferek tribe of the Clan now live in the stables.”

Teldin blinked slowly, having to come to the very distressing realization about what he was hearing. Tallalsala hadn’t just gotten a _d’aelar_ , she’d _stolen_ Vondugard’s. Dark skin, with a war horse though he wasn’t a knight and the stable thing all fit with the criteria of what Spayar was, how he worked, and how he just did whatever he wanted. Who would stop him? He was _d’aelar_. The only thing that he couldn’t piece together was the girl. He knew for a fact Spayar was gay, he’d heard Vondugard whine about it enough, that his friend always got more attention for his skin from girls when he didn’t even want them.

“Who’s the girl?” he asked.

“I-I don’t know,” the spy said.

“Find out who she is,” Teldin said. “Tallalsala didn’t just pull a secret _d'aelar_ from her sleeve. There is only one _d'aelar_ in the Alliance, and it sure isn’t hers. We want to know _everything_ ,” if Tallalsala had managed to get Spayar on her side, even unwillfully, that gave her an edge he hadn’t expected. It made her more dangerous since if there was talk of a _d'aelar_ in Assarus siding with her and it got out people would start moving back into Assarus, taking up the empty homes left there, and wanting to join her side. His lips twitch in unamusment, seemed his sister had a bit more thought in her head than he gave her credit for. She’d figured out how to put a new leash on Vondugard’s _d’aelar_. Clever.

“Yes, your majesty,” the spy bowed, and that just left the spy from Peonia.

“We hope you have better news than these two,” Teldin said dryly.

“I’m afraid not, your majesty,” he said. “Ami Rainwalker is dead.”

It took Teldin a moment to process that, “What?” He’d personally ensured Ami had been given the position of ambassador in Anokai as a favor to her father to solidify his alliance with the White Foot. The Rainwalker family was a powerful family amid the Hills. And now Solin’s eldest daughter was dead? “How?”

“She was arrested and taken to a prison tower. She was up there for several days before committing suicide by jumping off the top. She was buried in Anokai, the lai way. Hopefully she that means she didn’t go jogull,” and everyone crossed themselves, thumb touching each shoulder than their forehead.

“Why was she arrested?”

“My reports say that the Go-Sana just did so without warning. The spy in Anokai is now in hiding. He fears the Go-Sana knew Ami was a spy as well, and so had her arrested.”

“And you believe that? The lai don’t torture people. They believe it beneath them since the shame of their misdeeds is torture enough for a lai,” Yin said, “They wouldn’t have done anything to Ami after arresting her, and she would have known that. Why would she jump off a prison tower?”

“Because she didn’t,” Teldin said and leaned back on his throne. “Someone pushed her. You tell your spy to get his ass out of his hole, his cover is safe. I need to know who pushed Ami Rainwalker to her doom,” and for a sickening second Teldin’s mind flashed to Vondugard. He had no idea where his brother was. Not even his best spies all across the Alliance could unearth his location. It was like he’d just vanished into the wind and there hadn’t even been a whisper of him in over two weeks. What if he’d gone to Anokai?

But that was impossible. He was too visible. Even if someone didn’t recognize him a young man boarding a ship to get across the Sea would be recognized by ears alone. Teldin idly fingered his own, tracing the rim slowly, a nervous habit he hated and couldn’t really break. Sometimes he imagined it was because he felt they were too short, and wished they were longer. Proper fey ears. Or even halfling ears like Sinou had had. Vondugard’s ears would get him recognized in any major port that sailed to Anokai and his spies would have heard. There was no such information though.

“Yes, your majesty,” the spy bowed.

“Is that all?”

“Yes that-“ they all looked up where a great unnatural wind buffered the tent. From outside there was yelling, but not in terror, rather in wonder.

“What was that?” Yin asked, picking again.

“I have a good guess,” Sade said, unfolding from where she’d been squatting the entire time. “Flighters,” she smirked.

Teldin looked at Yin, “Did we get any correspondence from the Wyrm Lord?” he asked, brows knit together.

“No,” Yin was equally as confused and they all flinched when a wyrm screamed some distance off. Teldin got to his feet, he needed to see what was going on.

He pushed the flap of his tent open and walked out onto one of the main roads of the tent city. The heads of over a dozen wyrms rose up from the line of brightly colored tents. Even at a distance they were massive, matte gray and riddled in horns, spines and wickedly sharp scales with an odd trapezoid shaped head. He couldn’t see their riders.

A horse sprinter up to the tent, Teldin’s attention caught by the brilliance that was the wyrms who’d come. “Your majesty,” they called and he turned to them.

“If this isn’t about the flighters we don’t want to hear it,” Teldin said. He wasn’t interested in more bad or lack of news like his spies had dispensed just now.

“No, your majesty, it is,” the horse pranced a bit, restless from still being so close to the wyrms. A distance away a portal opened high in the sky, out of harm’s way of the people who would touch it by accident, and they were all distracted by the sound of a flight of wyrms taking flight. The sound of their wings drowned out most conversation, the undersides of their wings were like the sunrise, striking with orange, red, magenta, and yellow with hints of indigo weaved in. “Sire, did you hear me?” they asked as the portal closed after having swallowed all the wyrms.

“What? No,” Teldin said, turning back to the runner. He’d been too distracted.

“Twenty flighters just came in from the Wyrd,” they repeated. Twenty. Out of nowhere Teldin suddenly went from no flighters, to twenty flighters. More than enough to win a first fight if he could move quickly. “Their leader flighter Don Semmick is on their way now,” and Teldin didn’t miss the lack of the rank Wyrm Master. Just a flighter. Still good but it wasn’t what Teldin was expecting.

“Thank you,” Teldin said, the runner nodded and then jerked his horse around to go back to where he was needed. He looked at the guards who were standing at post at the entrance of his tent, “Let him in when he arrives,” and then he swept back into his tent, Yin and Sade followed behind. The spies were still inside. “We want full reports when you find what we’ve asked for, or something useful,” he sent a look at the Surassa spy representative.

“Yes, sire,” they all bowed and darted out. Teldin frowned to himself. He needed to appoint himself a spymaster so he didn’t have to deal with this shit himself. It was the only position he’d yet to fill within his ranks. But unlike the rest of his siblings he knew the true nature of a spymaster. He didn’t have anyone he could trust with so much power and authority. Yin and Sade he did, but they already had important duties and Yin wasn’t clever enough to be spymaster anyway, though he figured Sade would be excellent at it. He needed her as his archmage, she couldn’t be spymaster.

“We heard nothing from Jollen?” Teldin clarified as he sat on his throne again.

“No T, we’ve heard nothing from them,” Yin said, “not even an official correspondence that the Drake are siding with one of your siblings.”

“They could be rogue flighters,” Sade suggested, “and harboring could gain you no love from Jollen. He keeps his men close at hand,” she reminded Teldin.

“We will see when they arrive then,” Teldin said. If he could have twenty flighters at his disposal that would make his life _significantly_ more convenient, if only because he could use them to ferry information around the Alliance. As it was post offices around the Alliance had closed for long distance mail when the flighters had all just left a bit over a half a week ago. Or rather they’d been recalled back to the Wyrd.

Teldin pulled himself from his thoughts when someone entered his tent. They had to duck a bit at the entrance for he was so tall he couldn’t fit through the normal sized tent door. It was the flighter Don Semmick. They were tall, muscular, and wore their flak jacket like a second skin. He had his flying cap and goggles in one hand and his face was covered in bright, geometric designs from the cream flighters used to keep their skin hydrated and from becoming chapped from all the flying they did. Don was also armed for war and wore his two khopesh crossed at the small of his back attached to chains that linked to the back of his jacket. The only thing Teldin didn’t like about what he saw was how young Don was. He looked like he was barely twenty, his scleras a cloudy light grey, hair untouched by the silver streaks all flighters developed.

He bowed when he got closer, “Asuras Teldin,” he said respectfully, “I am flighter Don Semmick, me and my men wish to join your cause.”

“Your arrival is a surprise Don,” he said, “we received no word from Jollen that he would be sending flighters. Do you not fight for the Drake?” he hadn’t missed Don’s lack of affiliation.

Don grimaced slightly, “The Wyrm Lord has declared the Drake neutral,” and Teldin nearly choked. The Drake, _neutral_? Impossible. He nearly sent Don away, he wanted no part in rogue flighters who went against their house. “But he gave all flighters leave to join the fight for whichever side they liked.”

“Bullshit,” Yin said.

“I assure you, its the truth,” Don unbuttoned a few buttons of his flak jacket and pulled out a sealed envelope. “The Wyrm Lord sent along this message to each of the early groups so you know he gave us leave,” he approached, handed the envelope to Teldin. He eyed the flighter warily even as he ripped open the envelope. He read it quickly once, and then a second time. Then he looked at Don. “I am here with my lord’s permission and wish to be as helpful to you as possible, sire.”

He handed the letter to Yin, “You and nineteen of your fellow flighters?” Don nodded, “Do you not have a Wyrm Master?” Don flinched.

“We do not,” he admitted with a swallow. “The Wyrm Masters have not yet chosen sides,” he admitted. Well that explained why such a young man would be put in charge of the flight who’d come to the Hills. It meant he was the eldest. Kinera smite him, that meant that some of the flighters probably hadn’t even served their time. The _boys_ had arrived to make war, but the men, the tested and proven who’d earned their status amid the Wyrd, they hadn’t come yet. Teldin knew they weren’t fools. They were waiting to see what would happen before picking a side, since they all wanted to be on the winning side.

“We see,” Teldin said slowly. “Well, Don, we welcome you to our army. Our Archon, Yin Thorn will see to it that you and your men are given proper accommodations. Orders will be forthcoming once we’ve decided how you will be of best service to us.”

Don looked relieved, “Thank you sire,” he bowed again. Teldin nodded at Yin who went over to Don and led him away.

Teldin turned to Sade, “What do you think?”

“I think Jollen knows what he’s doing, and its a good play,” she said. “But now we’ll have more mouths to feed and he has less,” and Teldin winced. Yes, that was something he still needed to work on. For now his army had plenty of food and money to buy food from both the White Foot and the towns and cities along the Northenlance. But his coffers weren’t bottomless like his mother’s, or his sister’s since she no doubt had control of the Assarus vaults by now. Feeding an army was expensive. His wealthy backers were supplying for now, but soon they’d grow angry if he didn’t move to secure cities and land for them to tax for food and atrins to keep the war machine going.

“But these flighters, they’re boys,” Teldin said. 

“The _d'aelar_ is a boy,” she reminded him, “and you would have even slept with him to get him to join you,” and Teldin scowled at her. Not that she was wrong. He would have done a lot of things. He didn’t even need or want Spayar to like him particularly. He just wanted the man to _join_ him, and from what he’d heard he knew the _d'aelar_ would sleep with anyone if it benefitted him. At least if they were a man.

“Irrelevant,” he said, brushing her off. “And unless he’s free of Tallalsala’s clutches and I can find and kill Vondugard then worrying about the nature of Spayar’s allegiances will get me nowhere.”

“Hmm,” she frowned slightly, “you should have had Yin sleep with him. I hear he’s good in bed.”

Teldin rolled his eyes, “That isn’t helpful Sade,” he said.

“I know,” she grinned a snake’s grin at her. “But what good am I if not to remind you of your shortcomings so your head doesn’t grow five times too large?”

“I am _well_ aware,” Teldin growled.

“Is that all you need of me, T? I should get back to my own men.”

“Yes, begone,” he said and once she left he slouched in his throne for a minute or two sulking. He only allowed himself that short time though, for he had other duties and this Conflict wouldn’t win itself. He got up and went to find his advisors, at the very least find Solin Rainwalker and tell him his daughter was dead.


	36. One Million Eyes

It was early morning, the sun still cool. A gentle breeze came in from the Bay twisting around the cliffs, disturbing the curtains. Helida was awake, looking at the ceiling, forehead wrinkled. Next to her Ilnta slept, pressed against her side, hand cupping one of her breasts, his breathing steady and calming. She was trying to figure out the dream that had woken her.

As an oracle of Lemp he sometimes sent her important messages in dreams. That was how her mother had picked Ilnta up from Jotulla slavers when he was a boy. Was how she knew that she would have a daughter that would rival and eclipse the Blessed Horra, the first necromancer, in ability and power. He sometimes also showed her less pressing visions, but ones she should know about regardless. They also preluded great death, not suffering, for Lemp did not want his children to suffer, but death in great swaths.

The dream had been of the Shard Sea where a great many tall masted ships bobbed in the distance. The water stained red with blood. It had taken her time to realize that it had not been the Shard Sea. Rather it had been a plains of a great battle, the blood running so high she thought it was the Sea. The ships had been bodies, each impaled by three swords and spears. In the distance she could see a colossus. A towering monster with a million black eyes and a dozen arms ending in swords. It was so far away and so huge that she could only see it as a distant shape. 

She’d started traveling towards the colossus without her consent, floating over the sea of blood and the ships that were the dead. As she grew near the colossus appeared to shrink. The further she went the more bodies she saw. Soon she saw jogull hunched over the bodies, ripping into the dead with teeth and antlers, covering themselves in the gore as they feasted like vultures. Now and then she’d seen a pure white doe standing in the red sea, and it watched her with its red eyes, but she saw no necrell, just their deer, and the jogull.

When she arrived at the feet of the colossus it was now the size of a man. Its body covered in black lidded eyes, as if it had satisfied its blood lust. Its twelve sword arms at rest as they stood before another man that was facing away from Helida. The man, like the rest of the dream, soaked in blood. She could not discern much of him other than his skin and hair seemed to be pure gold and he had the long, peaked, ears of a fey. The man had turned to look at her, but before she could see his face she’d woken up.

The vision, for indeed it was a vision, had unsettled her. It had woken her in the middle of the night and she hadn’t been able to go back to sleep. She tried to piece together what she’d seen.

The field had been the place of a great battle, or many battles. The Conflict, she knew that. Soon there would be so much blood spilt because of the Conflict. Thousands would die before this Conflict resolved. Their blood would make a sea; their souls cleansed by necrell, their bodies cleansed by jogull.

But the colossus. It was no creature she knew in mythology. The thing with a million eyes and twelve arms. The fey man had to have been who would win the Conflict. A man. A man would win the Conflict, but that still left the three: Teldin, Dellin, and Vondugard. They’d won because of the colossus. It had to be a creature from another world, that they’d called to fight for them and bound to their will. The thought made her shiver. What sort of thing could the Le’Acard call into this world?

Next to her she heard Ilnta wake with a grunt and just snuggled closer. “Daisuni visited me last night,” she whispered, using the name for Lemp that Ilnta’s people used.

Ilnta grunted again, licked his lips and said, without opening his eyes, “Did he say he was going to give us another child?” and then he opened one of his storm grey eyes to look at her with a smirk. “Because that was the idea.”

She laughed, “No,” she said.

“Oh well, guess I’ll have to give us another myself,” and that made her laugh again. He propped himself up some and kissed her. “Good morning _roshali_ ,” he said in a soft tone.

“Lemp’s prophecy wasn’t nearly as enticing as yours,” she said, gently tugging his beard. “I had a vision of the Conflict.”

His brows went up, “Oh? And what did you see?”

She told him before asking, “Any ideas on the colossus?”

He shook his head slowly and then sat up with a yawn. “Nothing like that in my land or here,” he stretched, the scars on his back twisting along the thick cords of muscle. All old, some she’d given him, some he’d gotten from serving time, but they all stood out like little pale flashes on his dark skin. “Shame you didn’t see his face,” he stumbled out of bed and went to the bathroom.

“Yes,” Helida said, looking at the ceiling again. She kept thinking about the colossus.

Ilnta was coming out of the bathroom and putting on his clothes when there was sharp, rapid, knocking. “We expecting anymore?” he asked her as he buttoned his pants.

“No,” she said, rolling onto her side to see the door. It could be their children, but Jarn or Paja would have called to them, or at least Jarn would have. Paja was still so young, she didn’t understand you had to knock before walking inside. She’d caught Ilnta and Helida in some compromising situations before they’d just started locking the door.

Ilnta opened the door, there was a messenger in blue standing there, panting. “What is it?” Ilnta asked sharply.

“Excuse me my lord, my lady,” the messenger gasped, bowing. “Urgent message for you from an Anokai vessel,” he held out a rolled scroll to Ilnta.

Ilnta took it, “Is that all?”

“A-ah, yes sir,” he said.

“Good,” and then Ilnta closed the door in their face. “Stupid commoners,” he muttered.

“Which if I remember _you_ were born one, _Warded_ ,” she teased.

Ilnta got into bed again with her again, though stayed on top of the covers, and pulled her against him after handing her the scroll. “Yes but we both know I’m anything but common. Or do you need me to remind you?” he asked, kissing her nose. Helida almost threw the scroll away from her to bring him back to but managed not to. He hadn’t been bluffing, they wanted another child, or at least would be happy if that was the result of their… frequent love making.

“Another time, darling,” she said and rolled away from him, onto her back to read the scroll. 

“You sure?” he asked, following her, kissing her neck. Helida just opened the scroll even as he continued to kiss her neck. He knew once she’d seen what was so important to disturb them so early she’d pay attention to him.

Helida read the message quickly, before reading it a second time slower, her face changing from delight to a touch of terror. She pushed Ilnta away and sat up. “Not now,” she said.

“Helida,” he complained as she got out of bed. “It can’t be _that_ important. Its just lai garbage, you can’t even read hapese-“ she threw the scroll at him to read as she removed her thin nightgown. “What’s he doing in Anokai?” Ilnta said as she started to dress.

“I don’t know, get dressed, we’re going to see the lai,” she said sharply.

“You want me to come?” he asked.

She looked over at him, “Yes,” though she understood his confusion. Usually she didn’t need his help in any of her duties as High Priestess. “You know I can’t _stand_ foreigners.”

“Lucky for me I am the exception than hmm?” he grinned a bit and rolled out of bed.

“Indeed,” she said, finishing dressing and pilling up her dark locked hair. She didn’t wear her mourning gown anymore. As it was she’d worn it longer than appropriate, since death was only ever temporary. Now she wore the proper length and colors of a woman her status. A brightly patterned sleeveless shirt that compressed her breasts down a bit yet showed off the wide flair of her hips. She drew further attention to her hips by a beaded and jeweled decorative belt. Her shorts were crimson and in the rest of the Alliance the length would have raised eyebrows. In the land of perpetual summer, even in the middle of Neyjarra, you wanted to stay as cool as possible, meaning legs and arms were bear. As it was their menfolk walked around shirtless. Helida envied them sometimes. It it hadn’t been so risque to show a woman’s torso or back Helida would have walked around shirtless too.

“We’re not even having breakfast first?” Ilnta asked, dressed before her in his pants and boots and nothing else.

“No,” she said, “Whatever envoy Vondugard sent, I need to deal with it _now_.” She’d heard nothing from Vondugard since she’d seen him for Paja’s naming day. At least until she received a missive from praetor X’vazior from Alderin a week or so after saying they were allies now. So for him to need her now meant it was with the utmost importance. She pulled on her shoes and headed for the door, “Lets go,” he nodded and followed after her like a brooding shadow.

They left as Jarn and Paja were coming to their room for breakfast. “Mama, daddy,” Paja waved at them jovially as they came up to them. Paja held her arms up to them to be picked up. Ilnta looked over at Helida. 

She crouched in front of her little daughter and son. “I’m sorry sweetie, not right now. Mama and daddy have to go do something very important,” she pet her daughter’s puffy afro.

“We can come?” Paja asked.

“No sweetie,” Helida said gently, then she looked at Jarn. “ _Hatis_ , take your _hasi_ to go have breakfast with uncle and auntie, okay?”

“Wanna have break fast with you, mama,” Paja said.

“I know sweet heart,” Helida cooed, “but not today.”

“ _Hasi_ , c’mon,” Jarn said and took Paja’s hand. “We’ll go see uncle Od and auntie Dally.”

“But I want mama,” Paja said even as Helida stood.

“Mama will be back in a little bit,” Helida promised. Jarn picked up his little sister who looked about to have a break down and walked back down the hall to find Od. “Lets go,” she told Ilnta who followed her when she headed out.

They left through the Sea Gate and went down to the docks on foot. Some people recognized them and bowed, but Nedrag was still just waking up, so they went without obstruction. They got to the dock yard and Ilnta went to ask about a lai ship that had come in earlier that morning. The harbor master directed them down the proper pier and it was easy to find.

The lai ship was unlike the other ships docked. Most were fishing vessels, to supply the city and the surrounding area, and were short masted things that relied on rowers as much as sails. The lai ship had a single tall sail and two smaller ones behind it. The ship was small enough and road high enough in the water to get into the Bay and past the reefs that protected it. A sailor was standing on the deck, watching the dock. When he saw them he left and came back with another lai with bright and expressive makeup.

Helida stopped at the gangway and the lai man came off the ship. “My ‘ady,” he bowed, his feylian bad and she tried not to hold it against him. “Thank you for coming to see me at such an ear’y bell.”

“Where’s Vondugard?” she asked.

“Not here, he is in ‘o-Gashuai. I am here with on’y a correspondence from him. He was adamant I gave it to you persona’y.”

“I see,” she said in a rather tight voice, she didn’t like when people gave her news she didn’t like, much less so in awful feylian.

“What’s he doing in Lo-Gashuai?” Ilnta spoke up to ask, “What’s he even doing in Anokai?”

The man raised his hands, “I know nothing. I was merely told to bring this to you,” he held a fat envelope and handed it to her. Ilnta took it instead.

“You came all this way, for a letter?” Ilnta asked.

“Yes,” he said, “for the Go-Sana wi’ed it, so I do.”

“And you know nothing?”  Helida asked. The man held out his hands to show they were empty,

“Now what? You will return to Anokai?” Ilnta rose his brows at the man as he spun the thick envelope between his palms.

“I am supposed to wait unti’ you have sent a message in return, then yes, I ‘eave for Anokai once more,” the lai nodded.

“Very well. We will have a response for you as soon as we’re able,” Helida said dismissively.

“Good. Good day ‘ady High Priestess,” he bowed to her and then walked back up the gangway, which was pulled up after him.

“Its sealed with magic,” Ilnta said, fiddling with the envelope. Her Ilnta had once held great power before the attack on his childhood home had ripped it from his young hands and him from his homeland. But he could still _feel_ magic like a normal mage, like Helida’s father could have, and like summoners like Helida could not. “I assume only you can open it.”

Helida was looking at the ship, and they reminded her of her vision, of the ships that were corpses on the sea of blood. “Give it to me,” she held her hand out for it, keeping her eyes on the ship. She took it when he laid it on her palm. “There are eyes everywhere,” she said and then looked over her shoulder at her black walled Rose Garden she could see in the shadow of the southern cliffs.

She wasn’t so stupid to not think that the Le’Acard had spies in her home, maybe even as her own servants. When she’d been a little girl her mother had fired every servant who worked in the Temple because Virilia had had a spy in there, but her mother hadn’t known who. She’d punished everyone for it. That was the only time Helida knew of a spy, but she didn’t doubt Virilia had more, or that the other royals might have some amid her flowers. They couldn’t know this though. This was the first anyone had heard of Vondugard in two weeks.

“Shall I go rent us a private room in your favorite den?” Ilnta asked and started to guide her back to land.

“Yes,” she said, “I’ll be along in a moment,” he nodded and walked on ahead. Helida went to the post office near the docks. Several blue clothed messengers were lounging around, waiting for something to do while tellers organized their spaces for the coming day. She went up to one of the tellers.

“My lady,” and everyone jumped to their feet and bowed, “how can I be of service?”

“I need to send a message.”

“Of course,” and they handed her a pad of stationary and one of the new ‘fountain pens’ imported from Galinsum. So much better than an ink and quill she’d grown up using. She wrote a message to her brother, telling him to send all the servants out of the Temple like mother had done when she was a little girl and to keep everyone out. She folded it twice and the teller sealed it with some wax.

“Its going to my brother Od in the Garden. Send your fastest,” Helida said, “and most discreet, not like the one those lai sent earlier.”

“Of course my lady, is that all?”

“Yes, thank you,” and she left, knowing her message would get to her brother. Then she left the post office and went up two blocks from the docks to a nicer part of the city to her favorite smoke house.

The girls in the front greeted her by name and one of them showed her to the room Ilnta had rented. There was a low table in the middle of a horseshoe shaped couch, and some storm weed on the table. But it was unlit. Ilnta was waiting for her, sitting forward when she entered.

She sat next to him and opened the envelope. Nothing happened and if Ilnta was right and it had been covered in magic it was only supposed to open for her. She imagined if anyone had opened it it would have, knowing Vondugard’s element, burst into flames.

Inside the envelope were several neatly folded pieces of thick paper with equally neatly written feylian. Helida leaned against Ilnta, his arm around her shoulder, as she read.

_Lady Rosalia,_

_I am in Anokai with a flighter friend named Diylan. Don’t be cross with me for having a Drake friend, they didn’t side with me, Jollen is a brute anyway. I escaped Tallalsala’s massacre with luck and am now guest of the Go-Sana, and will be until I can return home. The only people who know I am here is you and my d'aelar Spayar Hillsman if he’s still alive. I’m sure you know what that means and what a position that puts you in. I hope we’re still allies._

_I need you to send a message to X’vazior Kull in Alderin that I’m alive. He knows how to begin. I have several more allies amid the western provinces, of which my Archon knows of and will deal with appropriately. Do whatever it is X’vazior needs of you, please. He is a trained military leader and will make sure the proper preparations are made._

_I need to know if my d'aelar is still alive. X’vazior might have that information, if he does get it from him. I also need to know what my siblings are doing if at all possible. I know this is a great amount to ask of you on such short notice, especially when you have your province to run, but I assure you, this is all of the utmost importance. Especially X’vazior. If he’s not already begun building up forces he will as soon as he gets your message. I would say send a flighter with a message to him; but we both know that won’t happen._

_I plan to return from Anokai once I can. The Go-Sana is protective of his guests and I don’t believe he will allow Diylan to leave without trying to make him marry one of his daughters, or at least fathering a child. Knowing flighters, the latter will probably happen sooner or later._

_Please send a message back with the captain of the ship once you are ready. They’re prepared to stay until you have something for them, even after a messenger has come and gone from Alderin._

_Right now you’re my only hope Helida. I have no one else. I await your message. There is a second envelope enclosed for X’vazior. Don’t try and open them, I spelled them the same as I did yours. Not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t trust others, I hope you understand._

_Vondugard Le’Acard III_

“He certainly does ask much,” Ilnta said over her shoulder as Helida read the letter a second time. She took the second envelope from the first and it was equal thickness to her own letter.

“He is a Le’Acard, they don’t know how to ask for less. Its always more, more, _more_ with them.” She tapped the letter for X’vazior onto her palm, “We’re going to war,” she said.

“Yes,” Ilnta nodded a little.

“I’m sure you’re excited,” she grinned at him and tugged his beard before kissing him.

“They say war stimulates all men,” Ilnta said, she smirked.

“I need you to go to Alderin,” she said like a whisper.

“Of course, _roshali_.”

“I will begin to gather our forces and when X’vazior calls us we shall come.”

Ilnta smirked, “I almost feel bad for whichever fool royal comes against us first. The Garden has needed to be watered for some time.”

“Hmmm,” she agreed and then stood. “Time to go home and prepare,” he got to his feet behind her. 

The walk back home was silent. The Temple more so when they arrived save for two necromonger and a necromancer guard standing at the front of the great open front. The curtains drawn closed across the face.

“My lady,” they bowed to her and one of the necromongers lifted back the curtain to allow her and Ilnta inside. All the candles had been snuffed out except for the ones at the altar at the feet of the statue of Lemp, casting the silver statue into an eerie glow. They both paused in front of the statue and put their left hand over their hearts and prayed. Helida mouthed the words she needed Lemp to hear. Her prayer lasted longer than she expected; asking Lemp to give her clear vision, a firm resolve, power and might, and will to win at all costs. Ilnta was holding the door open for her and she went through.

They found Od and Dally with her children in Od’s parlor, a room without windows and only one door, tucked deep within the Temple. He hadn’t known what was coming and just prepared for the worst. Paja ran up to her when she opened the door and Helida scooped her up effortlessly, balancing her little precious daughter on her hip. “Mama, you’re back,” Paja beamed and kissed her cheek.

“Yes, sweet heart, I am,” Helida kissed Paja back.

“What’s happened?” Od asked, standing. Her brother was clean shaven, even at his age, but there was fierceness in his black eyes that made no one ever mention it. Like Ilnta he had pale scars crossing his black skin in plain view without his shirt. 

His wife Dally was sitting with Jarn on a sofa. She was white and it made the Marks stand out like calligraphy lines on her skin. Her red eye was the color of a new spring poppy and her blonde hair was pulled away from her face in intricate braids. Like most necromancers worthy of marrying Rosalia men she was powerful and wicked to those who slighted her or her family. So if anyone ever did bring up Od’s lack of a beard she just punished them with her whip and tongue until they never made such a mistake again attempting to humiliate or mock them.

“We’re at war,” Helida said and handed her brother the letter from Vondugard. “From now on we will have no common servants within the Temple. Only our own people,” she shifted Paja a bit in her arms. “I also want additional guards on shift at the Rose and Sea Gates, from now on no one comes into the Garden without papers.”

Od looked up at her from the letters, “I’ll see its done, sister,” he said, “and what of X’vazior?”

“I will ride to Alderin,” Ilnta said.

“I want you to stop at Peonia,” Helida told Ilnta, who rose his brows at her. “I will have a message for Rhodon,” and Ilnta’s face grew dark. He’d never liked Rhodon, still didn’t. She gave Ilnta a light little smack on the cheek, “You will be nice to him,” she said seriously as Od handed Dally the message to read as well.

“Of _course_ ,” he sneered.

“You will, or I will know,” she said, grabbing his beard and pulling it hard. “Be nice.”

“Yes, darling,” he said brittlely.

“Good. I will have a message for him shortly.”

“I will go arrange for the paperwork for our common servants,” Od said, “what about our non Nedalian students?”

“Instate a curfew, nothing terribly strict or early. All students must be in their dorms by the eleventh nightly bell, no exceptions. Those who disobey will face the same punishment as those found in the opposite sexed dormitories,” Od nodded. Breaking that rule got you five lashes with a switch across the back of the thighs, nothing lasting, but would make sitting painful for several days. Enough punishment that most didn’t dare tempt fate but not enough to prevent it from happening entirely. “Non Gardien residents will have a medallion, ceramic, they’ll need to be made quickly.”

“We’ll hold off on blocking the Garden off until they’re fired,” Dally said, Helida nodded. “I don’t want this to disturb our work even if we do go to war. We are still a place of teaching, and classes will continue until and unless war shows up at our doorstep,” but she doubted greatly that that would happen. Attacking the Garden was dangerous. With so many necromancers, even non combative one around and all their menfolk it would be effortless for them to summon an army larger than any that had ever marched in the Alliance.

“That will start us off,” Od said, “we’ll regroup later tonight to plan further. But there’s already so much to do,” Helida nodded. “Dally,” he offered his wife his hand and she graciously took it. “We’ll see you at dinner, _hasi_ ,” and he kissed her cheek on his way out.

Helida went over to her son once Od and Dally were gone. Paja was just laying on her shoulder, arms around Helida’s arms around her neck. She sat next to him, across the parlor Ilnta leaned against the door. “Jarn,” she said and put Paja on her lap.

“Yes mama?” he asked looking at her with eyes that were just like his father’s. Briefly she remembered when Ilnta had first seen their son. He’d ruined a sun room in an anger she hadn’t understood. She’d found him sobbing and bleeding from the hands amid the wreckage only later.

“I need you to watch over your sister.”

“But I always do that mama, she’s my _hasi_ ,” and he held Paja’s hand.

“Yes,” Helida smiled and kissed his forehead, “but now, more than ever it is important you watch over her,” she said, stroking his curly hair, but not kinky like hers or Paja’s. “There could be bad people in the Garden who will what me, your daddy, and your uncle and auntie are doing and will want to stop us. And they might try and use your _hasi_ to make us hurt,” she hugged her daughter. “You need to take her with you when you go to your classes, as there are no nannies in the Temple anymore. Do you understand?”

Jarn blinked up at her, “I think so,” he said, “what’s going on? I heard what you were talking about, but I don’t really understand.”

“We’re going to go to battle,” she said, “against people who will want to hurt us. There might be those people already in the Garden now. You’ve learned of the Feytol Conflict in your history classes by now?” he nodded, “We are in a Conflict now,” and she saw her understood.

“I’ll protect her,” Jarn said firmly.

She smiled at her sweet son, “Good,” she kissed his head again, “go say goodbye to your father, he’s going to be gone for several days.” He nodded and hopped off the sofa. Ilnta leaned down and hugged Jarn firmly, kissing his son on the head as well.

Helida joined the two of them and once they left the parlor Ilnta picked Paja out of Helida’s arms. She giggled when he lifted her above his head and shook her playfully and then littered her cheeks with kisses. Then he put her down and Jarn took her hand. “Go play you two,” he said and Jarn nodded and told he’d give Paja a piggy back ride which she liked the sound of a lot. They both watched Jarn give Paja a piggy back ride down the hall to the nursery where all her toys were.

“Do I _really_ have to go meet with that puppet Rhodon?” Ilnta asked pathetically.

“Yes, you do,” she tapped his nose. “Come, I will write the message quickly,”

“Uhg,” he groaned. “You tempt fate you realize,” he complained even as he followed her. “I did promise to punch him next time we met for kissing you in my precedence.”

“You will not,” she told him firmly as she unlocked her office. It had been the High Priestess’ office for centuries. A black room without windows, she lit some candles and they winked like stars in the darkness and sat at her dark wood desk.

“But I want to,” he sighed.

“You will not. I’m inviting him to the Garden, so if you do; I’ll know,” she said sternly.

“Uhg, _roshali_ -

“Don’t you _roshali_ me,” she said taking out a pen and paper. “That is final.”

“Why are you asking him here? Also if I find him with wandering hands _again_ I will break them,” he growled.

“You will not,” she said, “because I will,” and he chuckled. “I want to invite him because he and his sister do not… see eye to eye as it was since his father stepped down from being Lord.” Rhodon was the second eldest. His older sister, a woman who’d named herself Blossom when she took the mantel of Lady Governor of Aldash, had been heir. She’d always been a bit weird, even when they’d been younger. She knew she’d never side with Vondugard willingly, she loved Virilia perhaps a bit unhealthily, but Helida could work with Rhodon. Didn’t matter he had a wife, she knew he was still the young man he’d been ten years, infatuated with the thorny rose who’d come from the north.

“You think a whelp like the prince is worth that?” Ilnta asked mildly, leaning against her desk. He knew her game.

“Yes,” she said and wrote out the message to Rhodon and sealed it. Ilnta took it, but was grumpy about it. “Oh don’t look like that darling,” she said, getting to her feet and going around the desk to him. She put her arm around his waist.

“I don’t like him,” he grumbled.

“I know,” she said sweetly, “but I need him,” he gave her a dark look. “Don’t forget you’re the father of my children, not someone else,” she reminded him. He just looked down, still grumpy. “Rhodon knows to behave.”

“He best.”

“If it makes you feel better you know Od doesn’t like him either,” she reminded him. Her men were such silly creatures, and got easily jealous and held grudges long. Some feylon from the rest of the Alliance at times commented that Nedalian men were too womanly in their temperaments. But it was just that Nedalians didn’t tolerate ego in their men, or women really, there was always someone better than you. Apparently ego was for men, which was silly since women could be as egotistical.

“I know,” he grumbled.

“Okay. Now go give Rhodon his message, and then go to Alderin.” She picked X’vazior’s envelope up from the desk and put it into his hand, “and give this to Vondugard’s Archon.”

“Very well,” he said and kissed her firmly, the kind he gave her when he worried or was leaving her and would miss her. “I love you, _roshali_ ,” he said.

She smiled at him gently, “I love you too my monster husband,” she gave him a peck on the lips and then sent him away. She went back to her desk to start the paperwork. She had a lot of work ahead of her to ensure the safety of her Rose Garden in the event the Conflict ever came to their doorstep.


	37. From Mouth to Hand

It was unseasonably warm in Assarus which Spayar didn’t really mind. Warm weather kept the rain away, the sky clear and bright. He preferred Surassa during Neyjarra honestly. The southern capital’s skies were also so blue and reminded him of the color of Von’s eyes. He was distracted by the thoughts of Von that he missed his mark and his practice knife landed three feet to the target’s left. A mistake he shouldn’t have made.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself and extended himself. The knife leapt from the ground and whizzed back to him, slapping into his waiting hand hilt first. He was a swordsman trained and had little use for knife fighting. Tassa always insisted that knives were more ‘satisfying’, whatever that meant. But knives were perfect for mettalurgy training. They were enough metal to get used to the shape of forged steel and how it felt in the air, and small enough to be manipulated easily.

Before now he’d only used his mettalurgy to know exact weights, or to sometimes magnetize himself or things for connivence. He hadn’t been able to do much. But since the coup he’d been using it more for stupid things. His sword was beyond ever saving except maybe by a master Smith who’d be able to make it straight and sharp again. It was no longer a struggle for him to bend the cold metal with enough force, and his shaping of softer metals found in atrin was becoming skillful. 

He needed more control. Spayar was a good wizard, a good swordsman, a good _everything_ it seemed. The only thing he wasn’t good at was his mettalurgy, and he could only train in the sword, magic, and alchemy or study history, politics, and academics before it became numb and his mind started to wander and he started to worry and stress. But mettalurgy he was bad at. It took his full concentration and kept him distracted.

Spayar turned the knife in his hand and threw it lazily and without precision towards his target dummy. He wasn’t trying to work on his knife throwing. Instead he kept himself connected to the knife and changed its flight pattern with a wave of his hand. It landed sticking into the head of the dummy with a satisfying thud. This time he wasn’t distracted by thoughts of Von. He beckoned with one hand and the knife jumped from the dummy and flew back to his hand. 

The hand motion wasn’t required. He’d seen Chevron train with his men, training his mettalurgy. He’d watched the man deflect waves after waves of arrows by some of the best trained archers in Tallalsala’s army. He’d broken a light sweat from doing so, but not a single one of the steel tips had touched him. Chevron was a good Smith, but Spayar had seen him under magic, he was a good mage with a small belsong. Spayar’s father was probably only a bit weaker than Chevron when it came to mettalurgy. Spayar, Sr. wasn’t a powerful mage either. Spayar didn’t know how he could come to have such a huge belsong when his mother was untalented and his father was only moderately talented. It was a freak happenstance, or the will of the gods.

Of course Spayar, Sr. could do things above and beyond things Chevron could ever do. Things like draw out a complete spool of wire with only a pair of tongs. He could also hold molten metal in his hands and paint with it across armor and swords. Spayar’s father was also a whistler, and whistle magic was old magic. Older than even the song magic that Teldin used. It had been used by wizards and mages for millennia before contemporary mages had figured out how weave without the structure of song to give a spell shape. Few mages whistled or sang anymore now, it was seen as a crutch, a handicap as it made magic easy. Easier actually since most mages took to magic like breathing. The only reason people didn’t say that about Teldin was because he was a royal and because it fit neatly in with their ideas of Sinou, who was a whistle mage. 

Spayar, Sr. was a whistle mage too. He could remember times as a boy, between his many studies, when he’d sit in his father’s forge and watch him work. His father whistled and hummed old songs from his home land, songs he never sang and ones he made Spayar promise not to tell his mother about. Spayar would watch his father command cool metal molten through whistle songs that sounded like the rushing wind. He’d call impurities from deep within molten steel to the surface with piercing whistles you’d use to train dogs and then scoop it all into his hand, calling it into a great glob in his meaty fist and throwing it into the scrap box.

Spayar couldn’t do anything like that. Spayar doubted Chevron could do that either.

Thinking of his father made Spayar miss him. To think Spayar, Sr. hadn’t even had any magical training when he’d come to the Alliance. Thanks to Grandmaster Clen he’d gotten that training. The same would have been extended to Spayar when he’d come of age to start apprenticing at the guild under real Masters. That had been the plan before he’d nearly been stepped on by the King’s horse. Then he’d yelled, at the King. Spayar smiled to himself at thought as he toyed with his knife. He’d called Naden an eyeless idiot who needed to watch where he was going. He could have been in so much trouble for that if Von hadn’t been with his father that day. 

Von had just been a child then, the same as Spayar, wrapped in warm clothes against the chill of early Eitirin, his blonde hair long and in a loose braid. Knowing Von now Spayar knew it was only loose because he’d clawed at it till it was nearly about to fall apart. No one was more happy than Von that short hair had come into style for men in the past decade.

He’d stopped the King from having Spayar punished. Even as just a little boy he outranked his father. Von was a Le’Acard, Naden had just married in. Naden didn’t even get to use the name Le’Acard.

It had all gone down hill from there. Von had become interested in him and suddenly he found himself the friend of a prince, then the _best_ friend of a prince, and then the _d'aelar_ of a prince. It was all a bit more trouble than it was worth, but Spayar would have it no other way. Even if all the classes had driven him crazy. After he’d finished his public schooling he’d been sent to a dozen tutors for this or that to learn more magic, how to fight, politics, history, law, advanced maths and feylian, tactics and strategy, theories and sciences. His future at being taught real mettalurgy had evaporated with those tutors. He had no time when he was a competent wizard and that was good enough. 

Growing up he’d tried not to be bitter about being sent to this tutor or that tutor, seeing what he’d wanted the most as a boy; to be just like his father, ripped out of his hands. Instead he’d focused on learning other things. It helped to distract him from the open wound he assumed all powerful mages felt to be denied their calling. Mali told him before she’d found healing there had been a _gap_ in her life. She’d been missing that had been filled by her element of bone. He thought if he just focused on the rest of his education that wound would heal.

His latest educational venture demanded by Von had been to become an alchemist. Spayar had been against it at first before he’d found there was measuring of all sorts of metallic powders with metallic rods and weights. It had given him an outlet to his mettalugy, and he let it be enough. He liked alchemy anyway. But not as much as Von. Von loved alchemy and the inventions of alchemists. Von always said the day he became Asuras was the day that he created the title of Head Alchemist for Assarus and Surassa, so they could fill the cities with technology and progress.

A nice dream, if a bit ambitious.

Spayar saw something out of the corner of his eye and turned. Narn and Sinoa were standing, watching from the side of the area of the training field he’d taken. His slight smile remembering Von dropped. “Can I help you gentlemen?” he called. How long had they been standing there? He’d been distracted and hadn’t noticed.

“No, continue,” Sinoa said, his eyes bright with interest.

Spayar looked down at his knife and wondered if he was fast and skilled enough to throw it at them and kill them both. No. Not yet. That was a skill tier above what he was capable of. Chevron might not be able to. Chevron was also a second rate mage.

He ignored them and went back to his practice. Impressing them wasn’t even in his thoughts. He just hit the target, called the knife back, and hit it again. Over and over again till he felt himself tire. He did it several more times till he felt exhausted before calling it to an end. His stamina was crap, he knew that. He was only good for about fifty or so throws before he was just tired. Better than when he’d started and could only throw it twenty times a week ago, but not good enough.

Spayar sheathed his knife and wiped his brow. Narn and Sinoa were still standing there watching him. He went over to them, “What do you want?” he asked grabbing the towel he’d left by a skin of water for when he was finished. 

He drank the cool water as Sinoa said, “I didn’t realize that Tallalsala had two Smiths in her direct command.”

“What of it?” Spayar asked, wiping his face and neck with the towel.

“Its just interesting,” Sinoa said and smiled. Was a shame really. Sinoa had a great smile, was great looking. Under other circumstances Spayar might even fancy him. “Not many Smiths who aren’t makers is all.”

“Well if I could get away with that I sure would. But I can’t so here I am,” Spayar said and drank the rest of the water skin. “Other than to watch me, did you actually need something?”

“No,” Sinoa said pleasantly. Sinoa liked him a bit. Unlike Tallalsala he wasn’t blind. He knew Spayar was why he had the chance to sleep in Tallalsala’s bed that one time. Narn hated them both even more because of it. Spayar would never call Sinoa a friend or ally, but Sinoa at least didn’t resist what he did like Narn did, and didn’t question what he did either. Which was of course part of the plan. The only one who demanded answers from Spayar still was Narn. The man would never like him, so Spayar didn’t try to get him to like him, he just made everyone around him like Spayar more. Got him the same results in the end.

“Good,” and Spayar walked away from the men. He heard the Archon and Archmage talking as he did but thought nothing of it. He went back to his room, washed and changed his clothes. 

He checked his sword, remembering each twist he’d put in it. He didn’t know why he was keeping it. It wasn’t even _his_ , he’d just picked it up on the night of the coup, probably from the hand of some dead noble. Habit at this point probably. He was putting it on when there was knocking on his door.

A servant was there, “My lord, you have a guest waiting for you in the courtyard,” he said.

“Who?”

“A North, my lord,” he said.

Spayar sighed a little, “Thank you,” he said and they left. He went to find Abirid. He was talking with Narn heatedly. “Gentlemen, everything okay over here?” he called as he approached.

Abirid turned to him and before he could say anything else Abirid kissed him. Well that was a surprise, especially since Abirid _knew_ _better_. “Pretend you’re in love with me,” Abirid whispered when they parted. Spayar didn’t understand why but figured if Abirid was asking it’d be for a good reason.

“Hello darling,” Spayar said, putting his hand on Abirid’s hip. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” Considering he’d banished Abirid from his sight until he had some news about that weaver he’d wanted. If Abirid was here it meant he had good news, or he had awful news and Spayar needed to come up with something else to free his sister.

“What? I can’t surprise you?” Abirid asked sweetly.

“Yes, of course you can,” Spayar kissed him lightly. Then he looked over at Narn, “What were you and the Archon discussing?” He put his arm around Abirid’s shoulder.

“Just a silly thing, don’t mind it,” Abirid promised.

Narn was angry and annoyed with him. Narn looked at him like that half the time, but this time Narn looked especially irate with him. “Something the matter, Archon?” Spayar asked.

“You don’t fool me,” Narn said.

Spayar looked at Abirid with confusion, “Fool you?” He looked back at Narn, “I confess, I don’t know what you mean,” he couldn’t help but smirk. He was goading Narn, Narn probably knew it too. That didn’t stop the Archon from taking the bait.

“Everyone thinks you’re wonderful,” Narn growled. “We both know you’re nothing but a traitor.”

“A traitor?” Spayar asked. “Abirid, do I strike you as a traitor?”

Abirid smiled at him like they shared a secret, “No darling. I think the Archon is just upset he’s all alone in having the great _d'aelar_ Spayar Hillsman not like him,” he said deviously.

“Huh, you think?” Abirid nodded.

Narn scoffed, “You think I care about some _foreigner_ liking me?”

“Excuse you, sir. I am feylon, just like you, Dirin is no more my home that your fifth great grandfather’s was Gren,” his smirk grew when Narn stiffened. Spayar knew everything about anyone important. Narn’s family had originally come from Gren six generations ago and made good marriage choices in the past five generations to now be western nobles. Of course he’d just learned this recently in the past two weeks on a trip to the Palace library to brush up on the lineage of his enemies. “We’re all from somewhere else, right Abirid?” he squeezed Abirid’s shoulder.

“I am well acquainted with the idea,” Abirid said.

“Are you sure what he said to you was nothing?” Spayar asked Abirid. “I’d hate to know my Archon was harassing you.” He could pull off the kind, love struck, look when he wanted to.

“Just some unsightly things, I’d rather not repeat.”

“You sure? I could take them to Tallalsala if you felt he damaged your honor,” he glanced at Narn.

“Like she’d do anything,” Narn grumbled.

“What was that Narn?” Spayar asked. “Do you really think she’d do nothing if I told her?” and from Narn’s scowl they both knew she would. “Abirid is a North, and I’m the _d’aelar_. I’m sure she’d be very interested in keeping us _both_ happy.”

Narn took a few steps over to him, furious, “You think your so special because you’re _d'aelar_ don’t you?” he hissed. “When you’re only what you are through chance.”

“Then I guess you’re just unlucky then,” Spayar said, smiling meanly. “But lets be real, you could never be me. You know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer, “Because you love yourself more than your princess.” He could tell Narn wanted to punch him, but Tallalsala had given him strict instructions to never lay a hand on Spayar again. If he did not only would Spayar hurt him, but so would Tallalsala. “And you can’t do the things I do.”

“I do, I can,” Narn said, his mouth barely opening he was so angry. “She doesn’t do everything you say.”

Spayar grinned, “We’ll see about that. Now, I have more important things to attend to than your petty jealousy. C’mon Abirid, lets let the Archon back to his duties,” and he guided Abirid away. When they were in the hall, away from Narn he let out a breath he’d been holding in relief.

“You were amazing,” Abirid said, stopping him and kissing him. 

Spayar inhaled sharply in surprise before pushing Abirid off him gently. “I thought we discussed that,” he said sternly, stepping out of foot traffic and pulling Abirid with him.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Power is sexy,” he smirked, arms going around Spayar’s neck. Spayar rolled his eyes.

“What were you there with Narn for?” Spayar asked.

“I was waiting for you when he came up and started bothering me.”

“What was he saying?”

“He said we were frauds. That I wasn’t your lover and my family wouldn’t ever side with Tallalsala.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Spayar whispered.

“Yes but he said he’d tell Tallalsala that its a lie,” Abirid whispered into Spayar’s ear as some guards walked past. The guards looked at them and then away when Spayar sent them looks, his arms around Abirid’s waist. “He was starting to draw attention. You didn’t notice them did you?” Spayar shook his head a little, he’d been so surprised by Abirid kissing him he hadn’t seen them.

“You needed me to continue the lie,” Spayar said, head down against Abirid’s neck. Abirid ‘mhmed’. “You better have good news for me if you think you can show your face to me,” Spayar said into his ear, his arm around Abirid’s waist and hand on his wrist in unkind manners.

“My mother is sending a weaver,” Abirid said with a smile and unlike Spayar’s pretend actually kissed Spayar on the ear. “They will be here soon.” 

Spayar’s grip loosened and he looked at Abirid. “That is good news,” he said and smiled for real for the first time in what felt like days.

“I thought you’d be pleased—!” and then Abirid moaned when Spayar kissed him. Really kissed him, holding his face in one hand and pushing his tongue into Abirid’s mouth. 

Spayar wasn’t a fool. He knew how to keep getting things he wanted from stubborn people. He rewarded good behavior, and pushed against behavior he didn’t like. When people did things he wanted for him he did something he wanted for them. Spayar knew Abirid just wanted to feel like he was important to Spayar. He wanted to know Spayar cared about him in some way. Spayar could handle such rewards.

Abirid was flushed and breathless when they parted. “Good,” Spayar said, “Very good.” He stroked Abirid’s cheek along the faint scar from Tallalsala’s party with his thumb and felt bad that Abirid looked thrilled. Maybe he’d even convince himself Spayar had feelings for him. Spayar was enough of a bastard that he’d let Abirid think that too.

“I try my best,” Abirid said.

“You should stay for dinner,” Spayar said. “I promised Narn I could make Tallalsala do anything,” Abirid grinned.

“I’d love to,” Abirid said.

“Excellent. Now, I have a meeting I need to get to, you can come if you want, or wait in my rooms.”

“Will I just be waiting?” Abirid asked eagerly.

Spayar gave him an amused look, “Good news gets you a kiss,” he said, “an actual weaver though, hmm, well that could be quite something ey?”

“Oh you bastard,” Abirid said even as a smile tugged at his mouth. “And yes, I’d love to come to your meeting. Tallalsala’s future alliance with the Norths should have a representative there shouldn’t they?”

“They should. Lets go,” he offered Abirid his arm and Abirid took it.

—

Spayar dinner with Tallalsala every night. Breakfast was every other day and days that weren’t breakfast were lunch. Half that time he wasn’t able to make the breakfast or luncheons, but they were always with good reasons. In truth Spayar rarely ate lunch and maybe grabbed a bite during chems between all the things he was supposed to do that day. Tallalsala had been thrilled when Spayar had told her Abirid wanted to stay for it and everything had been arranged appropriately.

During dinner Tallalsala always ate with her most important allies. She sat at the head of the table with Sinoa and Narn on either side. Several of her higher ranked officers and officials were also there and her friend Anita, who was important in a way Spayar had yet to divine other than make his sister miserable. Spayar sat to Sinoa’s other side with Abirid next to Spayar. 

Narn kept shooting Spayar and Abirid dirty looks but Spayar acted like it wasn’t even happening. He was suspicious of Spayar since he’d announced that he thought everyone was working too hard and needed to relax. Spayar had had drugs delivered for after dinner and that had led to Sinoa and Tallalsala sleeping together. To say nothing to the fact that Spayar had basically told Narn that he would do something soon, if not before the night was over. It’d be nothing to do with Narn, but would show the man just exactly _what_ someone like Spayar could make happen.

He made his move during the middle of dinner. Everyone was having their own conversations around him. Up till then Spayar had been talking to Abirid or chime in on the conversations he was having with the other ranked people around him. Now he leaned around Sinoa. Tallalsala was talking to her archmage in hushed tones, her lips pulled back into a grin. Narn looked like child put in time out on his side of the table.

“Your majesty,” Spayar said.

She looked at him, “Yes?”

“I was wondering if perhaps I could ask a favor?”

Tallalsala eyed him, but Spayar just gave her his nicest and most sincere fake smile he could muster. Spayar had been smiling at royals and nobles nearly his entire life, even his fake ones were so polite and graceful they could rarely tell. “It depends,” she said.

“Its just that it’ll be the thirty-sixth soon,” he said and felt Abirid had stopped his conversation to listen, though other than Tallalsala, Narn, and Sinoa, no one else was paying attention. “And well, that’s my sister’s naming day.”

“You don’t say. How old will she be?”

“Seventeen. An important year for feylon, especially first generation like us,” he kept his voice and face pleasant as ever.

“Your sister is only seventeen?” Sinoa asked.

“Yes,” Spayar nodded.

“You’re joking. From how mature she was I figured she’d served her time already at least.”

“No, not yet,” Spayar kept his smile from turning brittle and mean through sheer will. “And its been so tense around here, even after the fun we had the other day,” he gave Sinoa and Tallalsala looks. Sinoa bit down on his lips to prevent a smile and Spayar could see the tips of Tallalsala’s peaked ears turn pink. “I think a little celebration would be in order, don’t you think?”

“Its a bit short notice,” Tallalsala said.

“Yes, of course,” Spayar looked down a moment, “I’ve just been so busy it escaped my mind till just recently. If it’d be easier, I could arrange it, on your permission,” he allowed.

Tallalsala eyed him, pursed her lips in thought and sat back in her chair, “I will think on it,” she said.

“Thank you,” and he inclined his head to her and settled back into his own chair. Across the table Narn looked incredibly smug. Spayar leaned over to Abirid, “Ask your sister if she has any naming day gowns she doesn’t want,” he said softly.

“She didn’t agree yet,” Abirid said.

“Not yet,” Spayar said and went back to his meal.

Towards the end of dinner after Tallalsala had heard from each of her people for the day, and they were having dessert, and Tallalsala leaned forward. “ _D’aelar,”_ she said and he turned away from Abirid who was acting the perfect distracting lover. Maybe _too_ perfectly.

“Yes, your majesty,” he said.

“I will arrange things, for your sister’s naming day.”

“You are too kind _donalim_ ,” Spayar said graciously. That made Tallalsala beam. Spayar looked over at Narn who was fuming and sulking at the same time, slouched in his chair, glaring at Spayar across the table. Spayar just smirked at him and Narn grew even more sour.

When dinner ended and it was acceptable for Spayar to leave he was the first to go, dragging Abirid with him.

“That was amazing,” Abirid said.

“What?”

“What you did to Tallalsala. I thought for sure she’d never agree on such a short notice.”

“I get what I want,” Spayar said, tapping Abirid’s chin. “Now lets find Calli and give her the good news,” and he held up his palm and said his tracking spell. He’d installed the same one he had to Von to his sister so he could find her easily and keep track on her general location when he stressed out about it. Unlike Von Calli had willingly submitted herself to the spell. The arrow appeared on his palm.

“Oh, teach me that, that looks useful,” Abirid said, following Spayar in the direction of the arrow.

“You’re a wizard?” Spayar asked, looking back at Abirid.

“Well… no. Mage, not a very powerful one,” he grimaced. “I’m a droplet,” he added.

“So an actual useful element, lucky you,” Spayar said.

“Hardly. I can barely do anything. I’m not very talented like my siblings are,” he ended a bit bitterly as they arrived at the tower in the courtyard. The guards let them through and they climbed.

“So then my locator arrow is totally useless to you,” Spayar said and they climbed up to Tallalsala’s room before checked the arrow again. She was still up the tower, meaning she was in Von’s room.

“Lame. I’d love to be able to do something _useful_. Honestly its like I might as well not even be a mage at all. That’s how useless I am.”

Spayar turned to Abirid at the landing of Von’s room. He hadn’t missed the self destructive tone in Abirid’s voice. “You’re useful to me just like this,” Spayar assured him and kissed him lightly. “Don’t feel you need to be more,” and Abirid nodded.

Spayar knocked, “Calli, you decent?”

“Yes,” Calli called back. Spayar opened the door, “Why do you ask— oh.”

“You look better in my sister’s clothes than she ever did,” Abirid said, looking Calli up and down as they walked in.

“Oh, uhm—“

“Calli, you remember Abirid don’t you?” Spayar walked over to her and hugged her. She hugged him back fiercely.

“Sort of. Forgive me my lord,” she said when Spayar let her go.

“Nothing to forgive,” Abirid waved it away.

“I have good news,” Spayar said, holding her by the shoulder.

“What is it?”

“A weaver is coming to take that spell off you,” and Calli started blinking a lot to keep from crying. “They should be here in a few days,” he squeezed her shoulder. “Once you’re free of her we’ll leave for Gorum _immediately_ before Tallalsala can do something else. It’ll take us two days to get to Gorum, but we’ll be able to see mom and dad again.”

Calli wiped her eyes, being mindful of her makeup. “That’s wonderful news,” and she kissed Spayar on the cheeks and between the eyes. He hugged her tightly again and gave the blessing back.

“And more,” Spayar said. Abirid snorted.

“What?” Calli asked.

“Your brother did this I’m sure partially for you, but mostly to assert himself with Narn, who’s a prick,” Abirid said.

“He is mean,” she agreed. “What’d you do?”

“Tallalsala is throwing you a naming day party,” Spayar said.

“She’s _what_?” Abirid laughed.

“She’s throwing you a naming day party at my request,” Spayar said. “You’re only going to be seventeen once. Its a big deal.”

“Well its not like I’ll be serving time as Tallalsala’s lady in waiting,” Calli sighed.

“You’ll be able to serve your time if you want,” Spayar assured her, squeezing her arms. “Once you’re out of here. And probably once mom will let you out of her sight again,” and that made them both laugh a little. 

“I want to fight for Vondugard,” she said. “Conflicts count for all required terms.”

Spayar’s impulsive choice was to deny her. Fighting in a Conflict was the best way to get killed in battle since the sacking of Balentine. Most time served was gentle to say the least with the most action being seen in the navy or in the northernmost Arm that sometimes dealt with fed raiders. You could have a very easy time serving, and most people never saw battle despite even foot soldiers being taught to wield a sword, or shoot a bow. He wanted that for his little sister. Not the fire and death of a Conflict war.

“Calli-

“I want to,” she said seriously. “I want to be able to fight against Tallalsala after what she’s done. To me, you, our family. Isn’t it the feylon way to get vengeance on those who have wrong them? Tallalsala has shown us the greatest of disrespects in this Conflict. You want her dead, I want her dead. I should be allowed to fight for my own honor,” as she spoke she stood very straight, her chin up, meeting Spayar’s eyes defiantly. He could willingly let her join, or she would join on her own accord against his wishes. If he bared her from his side she’d go to someone else who could give her her vengeance.

“I would be honored that you want to fight with me,” he said. 

Calli beamed and then hugged him, “Thank you.”

Don’t thank me, he thought. A Feytol Conflict was death and he was letting her walk right into it. He squeezed her tightly. No, he wouldn’t allow any harm to come to her when they went to serve time. He’d protect her.

“Now we just have to get you out of here,” Spayar said when she let him go. He looked at Abirid, “The weaver is en route right?”

“Yes,” Abirid nodded. “Lord Drake recalled all flighters back to the Wyrd, but my mother has one on retainer she pays Jollen very well for. He flew into Assarus yesterday with the news. They should be here in five days.”

Spayar looked back at Calli, “Five days,” he said softly. “And then we can go home.”

“I can’t wait,” she said, all smiles.

“You enjoying your clothes, Calli?” Abirid asked.

Calli looked at him and bowed a little, “Yes, thank you. Its more than I could have hoped for and finer than I have ever worn.”

Abirid chuckled, “That happens when you’re a North,” then he looked thoughtful. “I’ll send a tailor to you tomorrow to make your naming day dress.”

“That really isn’t necessary-

“Nonsense,” Abirid waved her concern away and walked over to her. “Knowing Tallalsala she’ll look _fantastic_ for the party. But the host can’t eclipse the guest of honor. It’d be bad form. These clothes are from my sister’s collection from last year. That just won’t do,” he smiled at her nicely. “I’ll see it worked out.”

For a moment Calli looked overwhelmed, then she nodded, “Thank you. You are too generous.”

He scoffed, “Hardly. You’re Spayar’s little sister,” he gave Spayar a sly look. “And what good is being filthy rich if you can’t spend extravagant amounts of atrins on people? Hmm? No good that’s what!” and Calli giggled a little.

“Thank you,” she said again. “You are very kind.”

“I try. Now, I need to be off before it gets too late. I promised my brother I’d meet him for fifths down at Smoker’s Den. Care to come?”

“I can’t leave the palace,” she said.

“I’ll pass,” Spayar said.

“Aw Spay, no fun at all.”

“I don’t have time to dull myself right now.”

Abirid grimaced, “Fair point. I’ll leave you two to it then. There will be a tailor at your door bright and early Calli, so don’t sleep in,” he added.

“Yes,” she was still smiling.

“Goodnight,” Abirid said and then before Spayar could stop him he kissed Spayar on the cheek and then darted off before Spayar could be cross with him.

“Damn man,” Spayar grumbled.

“Spayar,” Calli said seriously, he looked at her. “What would _Von think_?” she asked in a mock serious and scandalized tone.

“Don’t even start with me,” Spayar scolded.

“He fancies you,” she said in a little sing song voice.

“I am aware,” he said, folding his arms. 

“I thought you said you didn’t trifle with lordlings?”

He gave her a look, “There are exceptions to every rule,” he said.

“Do you like him?”

Spayar frowned slightly. Calli was still young enough that she didn’t understand the game. She was still naive to the ways people could be together. Their parents had raised them in the Dirin fashion that sex meant love and you only kissed people who were important to you. In Dirin the mouth was the source of all blessings. From spitting to licking to kissing everything had a meaning. Dirinnans sealed secrets and promises by kissing the palm. Your words kept safe in their hands. Unlike in the Alliance where spitting on someone was like a hex spitting in Dirin was to surrender your body’s water to another. It was a form of servitude in the most intimate of forms. Relora had spit on all of her children more times over than Spayar could remember. 

Kissing people on the mouth was the ultimate blessing, the sharing of water between two people. In a desert country like Dirin water was sacred and losing water was always a sacrifice. Even as something as unsanitary as piss was often left in sealed jars on family alters. Water from the body and the offering of water was symbolic in trust and love. Kissing and sex was the offering and sharing of the body’s water and were the highest forms of trust and love. That was the type of household Spayar and Calli had been raised in and what Spayar had believed in in a long time and he knew his younger siblings still did.

It wasn’t like that in the Alliance. Here sex was a hobby, and while wasteful spitting was common on the streets into gutters or potted plants. Kissing was something some provinces did just as a form of greeting and no thought was given to it. Intimacy was freely given, and given often. 

The first man Spayar had ever kissed he’d thought he’d been in love with. But Spayar had just been a conquest, to sleep with the _d’aelar_ had had a certain ring to it before the Conflict had started to draw so close. It had been a hard, painful, lesson to learn. But he’d learned it and embraced it, because it got him things. He’s had to leave behind his notions of what kissing and sex meant to him growing up to or he knew he’d end up heart broken sooner rather than later. So he kept his heart close and didn’t let anyone near it. The only ones he let near were his family, his closest friends, and his prince.

Calli didn’t understand that. Or that when the feylon kissed it often meant nothing, that the things they’d been taught as children didn’t work in the Alliance. She’d have to face the truth eventually though and Spayar knew she’d respect the truth more than the coddling.

“No,” he said,

She frowned, “Then why do you let him do that?”

“Because I need things from him,” and Calli looked _horrified_. “This is why I’m always telling you not to be like me,” Spayar said. “Your brother does bad things.”

“But couldn’t you do something else?”

“Not how it works,” he shook his head.

“I thought you loved Von though,” she said.

“And yet here I am with you, instead of wherever he is,” Spayar said. He prayed Von was safe, wherever he was. He couldn’t get any real information about him. Spayar couldn’t meet with any of his usual people, or send out messages to their allies. He was stuck here, blind, helpless. Right now his sister was also more important. Feylon were often blinded by personal gain. Dirinnans didn’t think like that because you could never get above your station. There _was_ no personal gain, no real manner of advancement except laterally in your caste. Family was more important than all.

“ _Yenoz_ ,” she said.

Spayar sagged a little, moved to silence. Yenoz was a concept in Dirin for family that was akin to the idea of romantic love two people had. It was a destined love someone had for another that was usually referred to in Dirin as _nokovav_ , where two spirits were so entwined that they lived in the Bright and Shadowed Lands together unending. They would always be together. There was no word for either idea in feylian since the feylon believed that all souls were cleansed of any previous life without any connection to their past lives. Dirinnans thought otherwise. 

 _Nokovav_ was for lovers who loved so desperately that not even death could separate them. _Yenoz_ was for family who had such a strong bond that their love was as strong as _nokovav._

Spayar hugged Calli again tightly. “ _Esmem yenoz_. I’ll get us out of here I promise,” he whispered against her hair.

“I know you will,” she said. 

He let her go, took her hand and licked the palm. He was glad Abirid was gone then because he didn’t feel like dealing with his disgusted face. He remembered the first time Von had seen Relora spit on them. He’d been horrified and disgusted. “From my mouth to your hand I swear,” he said. She offered him a bit of a smile. “And when you come with me to wherever Von is waiting I’ll teach you to fight with a sword, or a bow, or a knife. Whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” she said, holding her clasped hand to her breast, keeping his promise close to her heart.

 


	38. Flowers

It was service day in the Garden. Unlike many parts of the Alliance the Garden didn’t worship on Asumsest and treated the day like normal. Their day of worship was on Lemest, the third day of the week. The Temple was full of necromancers and their men folk, kneeling or sitting on the tiled floor. In the front, behind the alter Helida and her children were sitting between Lemp’s feet. Between them were the hymn singers who sang in Nedalian straight from the untranslated Red Book that had originally belonged to Hora. Three men and a woman, each with voices like honey. Their voices washed over everyone like a soothing balm and Helida closed her eyes to just listen.

When she closed her eyes she drifted, lulled by the sound of the music spoken in words she barely knew. Modern Nedalian sounded very different from the Nedalian spoken by Hora in the fifth century. She knew the ideas behind each song, but not the exact words. You weren’t really supposed to know. It was about experiencing Hora’s words as song and not so much knowing them word for word.

Lemp sent her a vision. It was one she was familiar with. A young woman aflame, standing next to a man swathed in shadow. They both had red eyes. Behind them were nercos and strange things that looked like undead humans, but twisted, and nercros she’d never seen. Huge, hulking, humanoid things with horns and sharp teeth and giant hands. That was her daughter, the one she was yet to have. The one who would eclipse the Blessed Hora in power. She didn’t know the man. Where would she find a man with red eyes anyway?

Helida cracked her eyes open at a sensation along her arm like the trailing of ghost fingers. Like many old buildings from the time of Sinou the stone held power that modern mages had yet to fully replicate. Scholars bickered about it being because song and whistle magic had been replaced by the faster, but less powerful, casting magic. But the Temple had been here before Sinou had even been born and it was linked to each High Priestess. She knew everyone and everything in her Temple.

Someone who wasn’t supposed to be here had entered her home.

She looked across the sea of faces, not moving from where she was sitting with her daughter in her lap. She saw the curtain moving and focused on who’d come late. She smiled a little to herself. It was Rhodon. He’d just let himself in during service. Helida was the only one to notice him and he rather awkwardly came forward and sat in the back, realizing he’d come at a bad time. 

Helida closed her eyes again to listen to the hymns and to see if Lemp had any more visions for his oracle. He was silent the rest of the service, except at the end where he showed her the twelve armed colossus. Its million black eyes were open and alert, arms held in a attack position.

The last song and her vision ended at the same time. Helida opened her eyes and took Paja off her lap to finish the service. She bowed over the floor, her head not touching the floor and then sat up. If Ilnta was here he would have stayed with his forehead on the floor until he’d finished his own prayers. The necromantic corps got to their feet in a hushed sound of leather, cloth, and quiet talking. Helida got to her feet, picking up Paja who whined to be held. She and her children waited between Lemp’s feet for everyone to leave and for Rhodon to approach, since he wouldn’t be allowed into the Temple proper without her.

Rhodon made it through the crowd and finally arrived in front of her. Like a good Peony he’d aged gracefully and only looked five years older than when she’d first met him and not ten. His black hair was stylishly short now and he still had those dimple and lip piercings. Now his handsome face was marked by more rings. One more on the bottom right of his mouth, an eyebrow piercing, a side nose piercing and a strange one that was at the corner of each eye. He also had about twelve on each ear, each piece of jewelry was made of gold and sometimes jeweled. He had chains connecting some of the piercings along his ears including one to his cheek and one that went from ear to cheek, to nose, to lip. His clothes were immaculate and the height of fashion, though the colors were his own. Rhodon liked dressing in deep reds, nearly maroon and poppy colors, and blues, navies and ultramarine with periwinkle accents. They made his olive skin warm, more like the color of green gold.

“ _Edraí_ , Helida” he said with a perfect charming smile with perfect white teeth and she let him greet her the Aldashi way, kissing both her cheeks. 

“Rhodon, so good to see you.”

“Are you now?”

“Yes, though I might not be if you’re annoying.”

That made him laugh, “Ah, still the same as always Helida. And who’s this hmm?” he asked, peering at Paja who was hiding on her mother’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you had another.”

“This is Paja, my first daughter,” Helida said, “Paja, say hello,” she cooed. Paja just shook her head on Helida’s shoulder.

“Ah its fine. I know how children are,” Rhodon said and then looked down at Jarn. “And you Jarn have grown up quite a bit since I last saw you. You were barely up to my knee-

“And what ugly knees you have,” Helida said, Rhodon snorted. “Come,” she beckoned. Jarn went ahead and opened the door for them. “Thank you sweetie,” and Jarn nodded mutely, still looking at Rhodon curiously. 

Inside the Temple Helida put Paja down even though she complained loudly about it. She had Jarn take Paja to go play, or at least get out of the way so she could talk to Rhodon. “So Helida, what business do we have today? Your husband wasn’t forthcoming and your message was far too pleasant to be for real,” Rhodon said as they walked down the hall. Helida guided him into a sitting room with a glass wall facing a garden with a fountain. “Though when is your husband ever forthcoming with me?” he asked with a smirk.

“You know why too,” she scolded him lightly and motioned for him to sit. He sat gratefully.

“Yes but can you really blame me?” Rhodon leaned on the arm of the chair he’d taken and gave her some flirty eyes when she sat down.

“Rhodon,” she said warningly.

“What? I wasn’t going to do anything. I like you and Ilnta too much together. You’re very cute,” and she was glad her skin was dark enough to hide the coloring that sprang to her cheeks. “Too bad I could never get him to like me,” he lamented.

“You were trying to _court me_ while I was engaged.”

“Bah,” Rhodon flapped his hand at her dismissivly, “I’m an Aldashi, it was a flattery and little else.”

Helida huffed. She’d forgotten how utterly troublesome and annoying Rhodon could be. “I didn’t ask you here to talk about the past, Rhodon. I’d rather talk about the future.”

“Oh? And what future might that be my lady?”

“We’re in a Conflict.”

“I am well aware,” Rhodon said spitefully. “Trade and ships in and out of Peonia has slowed to a near stand still. Nothing’s coming in. The western Shard seaboard has run scared of a five way Conflict and knowing our navy is… aggressive during these trying times.” Aggressive was putting it lightly. Ships that traveled in groups within Alliance waters were stopped, rigorously questioned and sometimes just shot on sight if they were deemed threatening.

“Yes,” Helida said, “but I was thinking about a future beyond the Conflict.”

“Oh? Do tell. I assume it involves me.”

“It may.”

“I’m all ears _asene_ ,” he grinned. _Asene_ was the Aldashi word for necromantic women, usually said with respect and deference to their higher status than other women.

“I want Aldash and Nedalia to back the same prince,” she said. “I had a vision that a prince would win with the help of some terrible beast.”

“Really now? Which one?”

“Lemp knows I don’t like bad news. He wouldn’t send me this vision if it wasn’t the prince I already was aligned with,“ or so she hoped. Rhodon didn’t need to know that sometimes her visions weren’t always what she expected. “I am with prince Vondugard.”

Rhodon eyed her, “My sister, the _Lady_ ,” he said it with venom, “is backing Virilia. You know that. She’s in love with the Asuras.”

“I know. But I’m proposing an alliance, between us.”

“Oh? And what are the terms of this alliance?”

“You will put yourself behind Vondugard fully, and I will have your sister killed,” Rhodon’s eyes grew wide. “Isn’t she still unmarried?”

“She is,” Rhodon said slowly, “but she is not without heirs already. Do you intend to kill them too?”

“If I must.”

“How?”

“I have my ways,” she said. “The ten years your father gave us is running out. Your sister has no plans to honor the desires of necromantic girls who don’t want to become whores who are coming of the age to learn next year when it runs out. My mother wanted nothing to do with your province while she was High Priestess, I’m not that naive.”

Rhodon gave her a look, “You have people in Peonia.”

“I have people in the Keep,” she said and watched his face drop. “Not to mention several Aldashi priestesses in Aldash watching our interests. Some of them feel very strongly about Lady Blossom’s stance on necromantic girls.”

Rhodon said nothing for a moment, then he smiled. “You are quite a thorny rose aren’t you Helida?”

“The thorniest,” she smirked.

“So you will kill my sister, and her children for me, I will get to be Lord, then what? You want me to make your prince win?”

“Yes.”

Rhodon leaned back in his chair, thinking. “I will. But I want something from you as well.”

“What?”

“Our parents had an agreement on the terms of you getting your girls. My father got the shit end of that deal,” Helida smirked at him. Clementine had indeed gotten the short end of that stick. “You want me to agree, fine, I’ll agree. But one of your children has to marry one of mine.”

Helida blinked, “You’re joking.”

“Not even a little,” he smiled at her. “I’ll be honest with you Helida, my family has been trying to get close to yours for centuries. We’ve married into all our neighbors, strengthening ties. Nedalia is the last hold out. You want my cooperation our families will be joined.”

“You’re such a snake,” she said.

He smiled nicely, “That’s why you like me though.”

“Who?”

“Your oldest son. I have a daughter, she is _asene_ ,” that was a surprise to Helida. “She’s three, her name is Tissy. My sister tells me she has a great plan in store for her. You know I have _asene_ friends, whores. None of them are happy. I just want my daughter to be happy. Your little boy is first _hatis_ , he knows how to handle women, make them happy,” his voice had become reserved and deadly serious. “That is my price if you want this alliance. Your son, my daughter. Peony and Rosalia finally in the same garden together.”

Helida looked him over. She said nothing for a short time, thinking. “I’ll admit, for a moment I was afraid you’d demand one of your sons marry one of my daughters.”

Rhodon’s serious mask cracked and he smiled, “Come now Helida. I’m a man, but I’m not stupid.”

“Very well. You have your arrangement. Jarn will marry your daughter. I will take care of your sister within the next few weeks, and you will become Lord Peony and we will both back Vondugard.”

“Agreed,” Rhodon said.

“If you go back on that last part, Rhodon, you won’t get that marriage you want so bad, and we’ll deny your daughter entry into the Garden. She’ll become a whore anyway,” and Rhodon’s face grew dark and serious.

“As wicked as always _asene_ ,” he said mildly.

“Just how you like it,” she said with a smile tugging on one side of her lips.


	39. The Shadow Cast

 In the distance there was a walled city. The northern city of Harinfall, one of the greatest in the northern Alliance. Home of the Norths and practically a province capital in its own right. It was Teldin’s first stop. Harinfall was within the province of Wen. While the Sasches family had the rights to govern as the old ruling power it was no secret that the Norths basically ran Wen. The Sasches had become a mostly figurehead family to keep the wennicks happy that some Balentite family didn’t run their province. Unfortunately Lord Sasches was a useless governor and let Duchess North handle most of the affairs of the province. Lord Sasches liked drugs, young men, and hunting feds. It was a miracle he’d even produced an heir since he’d rather be out high and blood thirsty than home where his makeshift wife lived.

Teldin was waiting up the Northernlance for his courier to return. Around him were a well armed guard and a few of his less annoying advisors. He was sitting on his horse, an older gelding named Wheat for his golden coat. Wheat hated everyone, including Teldin to some degree. But Teldin had yet to find a more fearless war horse than Wheat.

A bird flew out of Harinfall and sped towards them. It grew in size rapidly till it was revealed not to be a bird, but a wyrm. Several of the horses with him shifted restlessly but Wheat didn’t even twitch. Teldin thought Wheat would rather right a wyrm than run from it. The wyrm landed on the side of the road with a thud, throwing up a great cloud of dust.

When the dust settled Teldin saw Don sitting on the back of his wyrm, looking back at him through the insect cut panes. “Sire,” he called from where he was sitting, “I regret to inform you the Duchess wasn’t in.”

“She wasn’t in? Where is she then?” Teldin scowled.

“Out till the afternoon, sire. I spoke with the headman, he didn’t know where she went. She does this apparently. He welcomed you to come to Harinfall to await her,” Don nodded toward the walled city.

Well that was annoying, but he supposed he could wait. Still, who made an Asuras wait? It was shameful. “Very well,” he said, doing his best not to show his irritation. “Fly ahead, tell them we’re coming.”

“Yes, sire,” and Don turned away. Teldin started Wheat down the road, his horse drawing harshly on the bridle before Teldin made him come to hand. Don’s wyrm ran north, away from Teldin, before jumping into the sky and taking flight. The flighter and wyrm whizzed over head at a dizzying speed and quickly left Teldin and his party behind.

It didn’t take too long to reach Harinfall. The walls were tall and thick and the gate extended out to the Northernlance like the tail of a monkey. Unlike Assarus there were guards, all of them professional and watchful, but not so watchful or professional that they slowed the influx of traffic in and out of the city and only gave Teldin and his company respectful nods and lowered gazes, or they just turned away to not be distracted. 

Behind the walls Harinfall wasn’t actually a big city. It was laid out in neat box rows unlike most cities in the Alliance. Harinfall was a new city, only two centuries old and built from a little settlement the Norths had decided to call home after they’d helped burn Balentine. Some tales from the sacking of Balentine said that the Norths were responsible for the murder of the royal Sun family of old Balentine while the Wests had killed the East and South families. Ironically enough the Wests now lived in the eastern Alliance, straddling the province boundaries between Dodorum and Nepal. Unlike most cities Harinfall wasn’t marked by the street, but rather by the block. Each block was labeled alpha numerically for ease of locating.

The manse where the Norths lived took up an entire city block including grounds. The state house was elegant and deceptively simple in its construction with a tall metal fence surrounding it. Guards let them through and from the drive up to the manse Teldin could see guards doing circuits of the grounds with dogs. Was Duchess Sawan afraid of something?

The headman was waiting for them, along with Don. “Your highness,” the headman said in greeting, bowing.

“That’s your majesty,” Yin hissed and looked like he was about to kick the headman.

The headman looked up and wasn’t afraid of Teldin’s Archon. “Forgive me. Has the Conflict ended already? I have such a terrible memory at times.”

There was a pregnant silence, “The Conflict is young still,” Teldin said.

“Ah, as I thought. Your highness, allow my men to take your horses and you may follow me to wait for the Duchess,” he beckoned and out of nowhere half a dozen holsters came to help them down and take their horses. Teldin surrendered Wheat to a tall, well muscled holster only after shooing away a more scrawny one.

“When will Duchess Sawan return?” Teldin asked, going over to the headman.

“In a few bells perhaps. Please, follow me. You are her lady’s guests until she returns. Some of her children are home if you’d like to broach the conversation with them?” he ventured as they entered the manse. The inside of the manse was nearly as extravagant as the Summer Palace in the south. It was splendor like Teldin couldn’t help but be impressed by. There was art in both paintings and statues, potted plants by every window. The wood floors didn’t creak and were so shiny Teldin could nearly see his face in them. 

“Who is here?” Teldin asked.

“Young master Dinar is in with his fiance Sana West. Young mistress Mahneerah is also here.” Teldin only recognized the name Dinar. He was Sawan’s eldest, her heir, and was about the same age as Teldin. They’d spoken a few times. Dinar was a level headed man, and very serious. Teldin recalled he rather liked Dinar. He was surprised that Dinar was marrying a West girl. He was sure the families hadn’t been in real correspondence with each other in three generations.

“We’d enjoy seeing Dinar again,” Teldin said.

“Very well,” the headman said and they arrived at a sitting room, “Please, make yourself comfortable. Someone will be along to offer refreshments shortly,” he motioned for them to sit. Teldin sat in a chair alone while Yin and Sade sat on a couch next to him. Don awkwardly sat, feeling out of place, and Teldin’s other advisors took up residence as they wanted.

A servant came shortly after, offering water with ice in it to those who wanted it. Teldin declined any and just waited. He didn’t have to wait long till Dinar came in. He was a handsome man, though his nose was a bit hooked. He wore a thobe patterned with sea creatures, a gold chain wrapped three times around his waist. Off one end dangled a sphere that glowed faintly yellow. Teldin stood when Dinar entered and everyone jumped to their feet when Teldin stood.

Dinar’s eyes went right to Teldin and he smiled in vague amusement, “Your royal highness,” he said in greeting, approaching, and bowed to him. “Such a pleasure. Please, sit, no need to stand on my behalf,” he made a graceful hand motion and Teldin sat, signaling the others to sit as well. Dinar sat in the chair on the other side of Teldin.

“Dinar, good to see you again,” Teldin said.

“And you as well, your highness.”

“We are Asuras now,” Teldin said, the highness honorific grating.

“Your mother is dead?” Dinar asked.

Teldin grimaced, “No,” he said shortly.

“Then… you are not Asuras,” Dinar said, sort of frowning. “What can I do for you? It isn’t usual to get such esteemed guests in Harinfall.” Teldin wondered if it was supposed to be an insult. He decided not to take it as such. It’d do him no favors to make Dinar hostile.

“We were actually hoping to see your mother,” Teldin said.

“Oh? What for?”

Again Teldin wondered if Dinar was insulting him. He knew the man wasn’t stupid. He had to know why Teldin would want to see his mother. “We were hoping she would be willing to help our cause,” Teldin said.

“Ah, of course,” Dinar said as though it had never occurred to him. “We have been discussing our potential allegiances in great depth since the start of the Conflict.”

“And? Has your mother reached a decision?”

“She says she will follow whoever reveals themselves to be the true Asuras. Who that is she has not decided to share with me yet. My Lady mother tells me patience, but, well, I’m not a very patient man,” he chuckled a little. Dinar’s response worried Teldin a bit. But it didn’t mean Sawan was siding with anyone else. Though if her son was marrying a West girl then they might align themselves with whoever the Wests favored in order to strengthen ties. He cursed himself for not knowing about the marriage between Dinar and Sana.

“Few great men are,” Teldin agreed. “Do you know when your mother is returning?”

“Hmmm,” Dinar looked around and spotted a clock. “She left at the eleventh morning bell,” he said thoughtfully, doing time arithmetic in his head. “Soon. Before the next bell, maybe even before the next half bell.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No,” Dinar said and gave Teldin a firm look, “and I don’t ask. When I become Lord North she may tell me, but till then she is matriarch and her time is her own.”

“Any guesses?” Teldin prodded regardless.

“I don’t even ask,” Dinar said, becoming more irate. 

Teldin let off on the questioning and turned to more banal topics, like Dinar’s marriage to Sana West. Dinar was all too happy to talk about Sana and Teldin realized a few minutes in that he’d made a terrible mistake asking about Dinar’s fiance. His companions even sent him looks like they wanted to know why he inflicted this upon them. Dinar was completely and totally in love with her. While Teldin was happy at least that their marriage was more out of love than politics he didn’t realize how much of a romantic Dinar was until he started talking about his future wife. For Teldin and his party it was rather nauseating.

Teldin especially hated it more because he was bitter. Like the rest of his siblings he was single, to have a boyfriend or girlfriend was just _asking_ for your siblings to murder them in front of you out of spite during a Conflict. As such he wasn’t close to anyone. He’d had sex of course, and plenty of it, he was the oldest of the crowned princes after all, but never like what Dinar was speaking of. Teldin craved what Dinar had, with anyone. He wanted to win so badly partially so that he could find someone who’d turn him into Dinar. So he was bitter about seeing the North heir, who didn’t even have to fight for his title, so horribly in love.

His advisors just looked miserable having to listen to Dinar. Probably because he sounded like a fool. None of them said anything and when Teldin looked around at them most had found other conversations with each other. Sade had woven a sound proof bubble around her head to keep the sound out and Yin had his eyes closed like he was trying to sleep through it. Don was the only person other than Teldin listening to Dinar, and Teldin was only half listening. Don was actually listening and there was jealousy written all over his face. Of course a flighter would be jealous of that since all flighters had to be careful falling in love. Can’dhe could be a bitch and snatch their wife from them on the birthing bed at the last moment.

Teldin turned back to Dinar who didn’t notice his inattention. He was just thinking about Sana and Teldin let him talk uninterrupted, nodding at times when appropriate to show he was listening.

Finally Dinar stopped talking and Teldin felt like he could breathe properly again. Dinar had stopped because the door had opened and the headman had come in. Behind him came Duchess Sawan North, the defecate ruler of the Wen province. Like Dinar she wore a thobe, and it was the color of blood without ornamentation. A black headscarf covered her hair like the Dodorians did only you could see her neck and throat. Framed by the scarf was a choker necklace with a large charm in the shape of a swordfish made of gold, lapis, and aquamarine. Her black eyes were intense and serious. She had the figure of a woman who’d had five children and her face showed her age with slight creases at the corner of her mouth, eyes, and across her forehead.

Everyone stood when she entered. Sawan had the air of a queen and everyone knew that despite her rather simple garments she was not to be trifled with. Those with Teldin bowed to her, he simply inclined his head.

“Your highness,” she said, her gaze never changing. “What are you doing here?”

“To see you, my lady,” he said.

“Heh… of course. Should have known you’d show up sooner or later when you entered the Hills. I’m sorry to say your journey from the Hills was wasted.”

“What?”

“You are not welcome in my home or city. Harinfall and the province of Wen do not back you and I hereby order you to vacate my province at once.”

“Sawan, at least let me make a case?”

“No. The Norths have made their allegiances this Conflict, and they aren’t with you, Teldin. Had you come two weeks ago perhaps. Now please leave before I’m forced to remove you,” Sawan met his gaze. Her will was like steel.

Teldin rarely felt anger. Usually it was just annoyance or irritation. Being dismissed like this though, _that_ , made him angry. He was Asuras, you couldn’t just dismiss him like he was no one!

Except Sawan just had. Teldin unclenched his jaw and swallowed to clear his throat. “Who?” he asked. She made to deny him, “I have the right to know. Houses must declare their allegiances publicly when they choose sides in the Conflict.”

He didn’t know why he expected a straight answer because Sawan didn’t give him one. “The Norths do as they always do. They trust the Servant.” That was about as good as saying the Norths backed no one royal, rather they backed the _d’aelar_ and the royal they served. The Norths weren’t neutral, but they were just as frustrating as though they had been. “Now get out of my city.”

Teldin breathed in and out slowly to master himself and then said as calmly as he could, “Good day, Lady North,” and made for the door. She stepped out of the way as he walked past, the rest of his company following behind him in silence.

The angry, vengeful, part of Teldin wanted to get back to his army and return to Harinfall and destroy the city. Just rip through the walls and have his flighters rain down acid fire. He could burn Harinfall to the ground and leave nothing but ash and globs of flesh in his wake.

As he passed through the doors of the manse he saw more guards, standing at attention, and beyond them, clearly marked in the grounds was a flighter on wyrm back. The intent was clear. Teldin was to leave and if he tried anything he would be dealt with. Separated from his army Teldin was only one wizard, a powerful one sure, but only one wizard. He and Sade were the only magic users in his party and knowing Sawan she had fifty mages in her employment if she had one. The fact that she had a flighter on retainer also didn’t please him. Not that he was surprised. Of course the Norths had enough money to bribe Jollen to let them keep a flighter in their purview even after he’d recalled the entire corps.

The side of him that demanded vengeance for the slight against him cooled. He could do nothing. As a northern city Harinfall was well fortified, to protect against fed attacks from beyond the Spine. He could go to his army, and return to besiege Harinfall. It’d cost him weeks if he really wanted to break the city and by then Sawan could summon for aid from other cities in Wen. It’d be foolish to attack Harinfall.

Someone put Wheat’s reins into his hands and he climbed onto his back. He looked back at the entrance of the manse. Sawan was standing with her son, watching them leave. Dinar looked like a little shadow next to her radiance. He also had mischief in his eyes. He’d known all along his mother would send Teldin away, but had wanted to string Teldin along with hope.

He’d remember this.

“Sire,” Sade called his attention. He looked at her and her face was set in such a way that she looked even more like a lizard than usual. She was as angry as him at the injustice served him in Harinfall.

Teldin jerked Wheat’s reins and directed him down the drive towards the walls around the grounds. His party fell into step behind him and they rode in silence even when they passed out of the main gates of the city.

He’d leave Harinfall alone. That didn’t mean Sawan would get away with her humiliation. She wanted to back the _d’aelar_? Fine. Then Teldin would just kill him. On the way back to his camp Teldin plotted his first move. He’d go south, gathering power as he went, and go to retake the city of Assarus. The capital should have always been his and his stupid sister had miscalculated. She thought everyone would respect the unspoken rule to not fight within the Palaces to preserve them. 

Shame on her for thinking so highly of her siblings when they had so much to lose, and so much to gain, from this Conflict. Teldin would destroy the entire Palace if he had to and then like Sinou before him he’d build anew from the ashes of old with song and whistle. He’d even kill Spayar if the man refused to side with him. Either way Sawan lost, and Teldin won.

Yes, he liked this plan very much. He made Wheat go faster so they could reunite with his army sooner and make plans with Yin and Sade before bringing it to his backers and advisors.

—

It was morning. The bed was soft, the light through the stained glass windows rosy, and he could smell breakfast from the first floor. Dellin was woken by his stomach. Damn his appetites. With a grunt he rolled over onto his back and yawned. Next to him the cute red head he’d taken to bed last night was still sleeping. Dellin had many appetites, and they were all insatiable.

He rolled out of bed and checked under it. Old habit. He still didn’t trust his older brother after the one assassination attempt when he’d been fourteen. He’d taken a young lady to bed and they’d been going at it when a lonth had popped up out from under the bed and tried to murder him.

The lonth had killed the girl and Dellin had killed them. Back then it had been luck. No way a fourteen year old could have killed a lonth without it. To this day he was still surprised he’d been able to cast the magic that had crushed the lonth’s spine so quickly.

Since then he’d tried to learn to cast as fast as possible. Now he could cast faster than anyone he knew, but he still wasn’t as fast as that night.

Satisfied there was no shadow under his bed that shouldn’t be there Dellin went to the closet and pulled out an over robe. It was made of silk with a fur lining and trim.

He left his room and walked down the hall to the stairs for breakfast humming to himself merrily. His brother and sister always told him he needed to be more serious. Dellin didn’t really see the point. He’d either die young, or die when he was middle aged. There was no mystery about that for him and he might as well try to enjoy his limited time in the Bright Lands while he could. 

Breakfast was still being prepared when he showed up at the dining hall. The servants of his host, Lord Governor Garratt, started when he opened the door and walked in while they were setting the table. Dellin went and sat at the head of the table without looking at them and the servants went back to work in a more hurried manner.

While Dellin was waiting for breakfast he picked at the fur trim of his robe. It was getting cold this far south now, below the Southernlance. From the province of Sosta one could reach just about anywhere in the western Alliance. He hated the cold, and it made his skin so pale and colorless. It he could he’d honestly rather be able to stay in Nedalia, or better yet Talderin, it was always nice and warm there. He’d bring it up with his praetors and his Archon if they could relocate to somewhere warmer.

Dellin had a spell woven in a second when a shadow that wasn’t supposed to be on the wall moved. The power balanced on his finger tips and then he saw who it was. No danger. He let the power slide off his fingers and dissipate into the air.

“Good morning Hador,” he said. Hador was a friend, but a strange one. Hador was from across the Spine in the east. What feylian they spoke was poor even after so many years in the Alliance. Dellin had met them once while visiting friends in Ironton. They’d followed Dellin mostly unseen until his lonth friend had pointed them out and Dellin had nearly had them killed. He’d spared Hador’s life on a whim.

Unlike Dellin’s other friend Hador was the only one he’d made important during the Conflict. He’d given the ranks of his Archon and Arch Mage to those who were worthy of it, unlike his brother who’d given them to that nail biter and the snake bitch, and would actually do a good job at it. But Hador. Hador who was a shape of living shadow and was one of the most handsome people Dellin had ever seen if not for the huge burn that had consumed half their face. Hador who had no past and no identity and who Dellin still wasn’t sure was actually a man. Whenever he asked Hador just said ‘I am Hador, and that is enough’. Dellin wasn’t even convinced that Hador was their name.

Whatever they were they were important to Dellin. Hador was as loyal as Vondugard’s slippery Spayar but not nearly as flashy. Hador would have probably made a good _d'aelar_ if Vondugard hadn’t played that hand first. Dellin had given Hador one of the most important positions an Asuras could give; the title of spymaster. They were quite literally a shadow Asuras and kept tabs on everything, making sure that the Asuras could rule with relative ease. They also, as the name suggested, choreographed all of the feylon spies across the Alliance and beyond into foreign interests.

“ _Aduvk venon-sal_ ,” Hador said in greeting and bowed some to him, coming up to the side of his chair. Hador faced the unscarred side of his face toward Dellin, the black eye there cunning and sharp. “Have news,” he spoke softly.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Spy in your brother’s army just reported. Teldin marches for Assarus after being barred from Wen,” he was nearly speaking into Dellin’s ear. “Spy in Assarus say Tallalsala plans another party. For Dirinnan girl. Her _d’aelar_ ’s sister,” Dellin snorted in contempt. Of course. ‘Tallalsala’s _d’aelar_ ’. What a ruse. The _d’aelar’s_ sister was her way of controlling Spayar. Foolish woman. She should have just killed the man when she had the chance. He didn’t know Spayar well, didn’t really care to honestly, but if he was Vondugard’s _d'aelar_ that was all he needed to know. Tallalsala would end up getting bit sooner rather than later by that man, and she wouldn’t like it. “And news on your other brother,” Hador said in a whisper.

Dellin looked at him sharply. On Vondugard? His advisors and backers all claimed he was dead, as they’d heard not a whisper of him in two weeks. “What?” he asked.

“A sailor on the Peony docks saw a wyrm land in the water two weeks ago. It was unsummoned after two men got onto the docks. A tall man, flighter, with red hair, and a shorter man with golden hair. According to the sailor the flighter slapped the golden haired man and then another wyrm was summoned. They flew away. West, out into the Sea.”

Dellin frowned deeply. “Is that it?” he asked. Hador shook his head as the doors of the dining hall opened and some people entered. Dellin ignored them, too engrossed in what Hador was telling him.

“Lai ambassador commit suicide. Odd. Sent men to investigate. Found Go-Sana with guests. A tall man, black hair, dark scleras. Shorter man, black hair, pointed ears. They just confirmed your brother’s identity,” he and Dellin were nearly touching.

His little brother was in Anokai. What the hell was he doing there? The lai were notoriously isolationist and other than bicker with Sengai and sometimes fight them they didn’t really dabble in politics outside their own country. What was Vondugard hoping to gain from going to Anokai? Especially since he and his flighter had dyed their hair in order to fit in.

“What is the next move?” Hador asked him.

Dellin looked around the table. Lord Garratt had arrived, as had his wife. There was also Dellin’s Archmage Tysus and the nearly naked summoner Feldorn covered in thick bands of black tattoos. It would be a normal breakfast for all of them before they went about their planning. Now Dellin knew where Teldin was going too, and he was fairly sure Teldin didn’t know where he was. Apparently Teldin thought Dellin was in the Hook, the land within the bend of the Northernlance. And now Dellin knew where Vondugard was, which no one else did. Well perhaps Spayar but that didn’t count. He could have an easy first win before Teldin even arrived at Assarus if he moved quickly.

Dellin looked at Hador seriously, “Have your man find him, and kill him.”

“ _Savahsta_ ,” by your will be done. Then Hador bowed and slunk away, becoming part of the shadow on the wall where he’d come from. Dellin offered his companions a charming smile. He couldn’t wait for breakfast.


	40. Homage

After three quarters of a month of being unlived in it felt strange to Spayar to enter his own childhood home. Dust that his mother would have never allowed to collect had settled onto everything. None of the lamps were lit, the forge was cold, the entire property was quiet. The garden in the side yard was being overtaken by weeds, or eaten by animals like raccoons or rats. Standing in the doorway, a light rain pattering on the flag stone walk from the gate to the patio under the house’s overhang, Spayar felt like an intruder. The house smelled musky and dusty and felt dark and claustrophobic. He’d never thought of his home as claustrophobic, but now he did.

He entered the house, closing the door behind him quietly. The click of the latch sounded loud in the empty house. He went over to the alter where his parents had set up statues of the family’s personal gods.

Relora’s goddess had one eye in the middle of her forehead and was shrouded in veils that concealed most of her body. Her name was Dehvonokoz, she was a seer, a counterpart to the feylon Belldha. Spayar Sr.’s statue belonged to the god Enko, the god of fire and willfulness. He leaned against a long spear, balanced on one leg, the other foot resting on the calf of the standing one. Enko had no true feylon counterpart but seemed to be a male version of Galaia. Those were the two main statues and then two smaller ones on either side.

On one side were Anora and Duren’s personal gods. Duren’s was the feylon god Maldrin, god of makers and a bit of a trickster. He had a wide, grinning, mouth, and balanced a knife on the tip of his finger. Anora’s statue was to the feylon goddess Pacia, goddess of mercy and was always depicted as a young woman wearing full plate armor.

To the other side where Calli and Spayar’s gods. Unlike their siblings Calli and Spayar had Dirin gods, as they were more Dirinnan than their little siblings. It had taken to Anora before their parents had sort of given up trying to keep them more Dirinnan than feylon. Calli’s statue was of the goddess Nuvokon, goddess of wells and springs.

Then there was Spayar’s. No matter what pantheon he resided in Densinn always looked the same. He was iconography that spanned the continent. Unlike his shrine on Swan Island the statue of Densinn had him standing and erect, nearly regal. His mouth was still sewn shut and his stump hands were wrapped in bandages. When he’d first told his mother of the dreams he’d had with Densinn she’d called him Sevok. It quite literally meant; the lying truth teller. It fit Densinn’s entire nature of being frustrating and annoying.

Spayar lit the candles at the feet of the six statues, casting the statues into an erie red glow. He didn’t pray. He had no use for more prayers. Densinn had given him that golden tongue he’d needed. He’d already invoked the will of the gods more than he should have. He simply paid his respects, dusting off the statues while the yellow wax candles burned. Then he left and went up the stairs to his room.

Nothing had been moved since he’d left it three weeks ago. He undressed from the clothes Abirid had given him and pulled on his old familiar clothes. Black shirt, dark pants, a well made gray vest made of patterned cloth, black leather boots, and his second favorite leather rain jacket, since Tallalsala had thrown out his favorite one. This one was brown leather and a bit stiff till his body warmed it up. He pulled his hair back into a horse tail and tied it with black string. Last went a waterproof hat with a spout out the back to help divert rain water off and behind him.

Dressed he went back down stairs and looked at the lit candles. They all snuffed out at the same time. Spayar licked his thumb and pressed it to the forehead of each statue. 

He’d entered the house an envoy of the Asuras, dressed like a member of the court. Now he left looking like just another commoner trying to avoid the rain.

He kept his head down as he walked towards the biggest market in South Garden and one of the biggest in the city. It was a large building called Hanging Gardens Market. It had been built in the seventeen hundreds after a fire had burned down a large part of South Garden. People from Bellringer, South Garden, Uptown, Smokers’ Den and even as far away as Swan Box came to shop at Hanging Gardens.

The building lived up to its name. Off every window spilled flower boxes filled to bursting with color. Vines crawled up the sides, forming along the geometric patterns of the masonry. Hanging Garden’s was two stories and circular in shape with a plaza in the middle. Inside the building were dozens of stalls that sold all sorts of food both prepared and as ingredients. In the plaza people who sold crafts were allowed to hawk their goods.

Even with the light rain Hanging Gardens was swarming with people. Perfect for what Spayar wanted.

There he met a few of his friends. Or rather they were his employees. Eyes and ears for him in the city when he couldn’t be here. He hadn’t spoken to them in a while, but when he’d called they’d all come. They were all thieves or pickpockets. Benefits of having a thief for a friend was you met other thieves and other unscrupulous people. Spayar paid them silver to give him information. He’d never ask them to snitch on each other, but they gladly dumped information to him about the state of the city and the happenings.

Today they were spreading dissent. He wouldn’t be with Tallalsala much longer he knew that. The North’s weaver would arrive any day. Once they were here he and Calli were gone. In the mean time Spayar meant to cause as much damage as he could.

His associates were dressed similarly for the weather; leather jackets, hats. A few wore scarves to hide their faces and protect them from the chill of late Neyjarra.

“Everyone know what to do?” Spayar asked them, standing under a red awning. His summons had included the information on what they had to do.

“Pay comes after? Or now?” one asked.

“For you Lefty, you can have it now,” and Spayar called two silver coins from his pocket. They floated out in front of them and landed in Lefty’s hand to his wide eyed look.

“This is only half,” Lefty complained, finally looking at the coins in truth.

“You want payment upfront you get less. You could just leave with my money. If you want to I don’t care. Once I know the job is done you get paid properly. Anyone else want their pay now?” No one said anything. “Very well. I’ll be at the forge house on Synerstock street in Bellringer at the end of the day. You can come collect your pay then.” There were nods from the thieves. “Except you Lefty, you got your pay already.” Lefty scowled but took it.

They split apart. Spayar picked a stall that sold pastries and stood in line to buy something. In his coat and his hat covering his nubby ears no one knew he was anything but a northern descendant feylon. The line wasn’t very long, but it was long enough for Spayar to strike up a conversation with those in it. Mainly he complained. Complained that Tallalsala was throwing _another_ party even while food prices were starting to rise. A few people grumbled in agreement. He bought a pink frosting topped cupcake and was given a box for it, and on his request, a bag as well.

He went and stood in many more lines, buying this thing and that thing at random. He always grumbled about what work Tallalsala was doing. The party, the Clan, the fact that her Archon and Archmage didn’t get along, that she had Obi’s head on a spike in such a tacky manner. He complained that he was a soldier who wasn’t getting paid his due, or that he was a servant on his off day, frustrated at the poor treatment she gave. He also spread rumors. Ones about the _d'aelar_ and how they were leaving her. Or that Tallalsala had done the worst thing, she’d stolen a _d'aelar_ to make her look better.

All his stories or rumors were met with unhappy faces, grumbling, and not a few hostile looks. A few even joined him in his complaining. It wasn’t enough to insight anything, but they’d go on, complain to others, who would complain to others. Rumors would start to pop up, words Spayar had never even said. 

There might even be another exodus of Assarus if Tallalsala didn’t soothe the fears or placate the commoners. Most importantly people would leave if something wasn’t done about the food. Strawberries and bread were still rising in price. So were blueberries. Fish was still at what it had been, the bad harvests not effecting the fish population in the river. Soon it would as fishermen caught more fish, causing the populations to drop. Other meat was already going up in price. Chicken, which once would have been a quarter silver- six bronze- for a pound was now eight bronze. Red meat and pork was even more expensive.

Fruits and vegetables not native to the central Alliance were marked up dramatically. Citrus was being sold for silver, except for lemons. Olives sold for bronze instead of coppers. He saw a stall selling pumpkins for three quarters silver each. Soon people wouldn’t be able to buy food. They’d starve. Unless something was done. Yet Tallalsala was throwing his sister a naming day party.

Spayar admittedly felt a bad using his sister’s party like he was. He’d turned it into something horrible Tallalsala was doing and not something nice Spayar had done convincing Tallalsala to do it. But if it helped his cause he’d continue.

He spent several hours at Hanging Gardens Market before returning home. He’d given an excuse at the Palace he was visiting the Norths for the day, so Tallalsala didn’t think he’d just left. He’d visited Abirid briefly before leaving again, pulling him into his fabrication. As usual Abirid was willing to do a lot for the return of affection, even the fake affection Spayar gave. He felt bad for that sometimes too. He was just using Abirid to further his own gains. He hoped Abirid had figured that out, or would before he started thinking stupid things like Spayar loved him. There was no room in Spayar’s heart for Abirid. Not now.

He waited on the deck under the overhang of the house, below his and Calli’s rooms. Eventually the thieves came. Some came alone, others as a pair or trio. Spayar paid them all a silver for how many bells they’d worked. They told him what they’d seen in Hanging Gardens and the other places in the city they’d gone to air their grievances. He told them that if new rumors cropped up he’d pay them all another half silver. They were all happy with that.

Once all his thieves had come and gone save for Lefty Spayar went up to his old room and changed his clothes again. He put back on the clothes Abirid had given him and went to get his horse out of the shed his father had built for her. He leaned against her warmth for several minutes once he’d saddled her before leading her out into the light rain and climbing onto her back. 

As he left he felt as though he could feel the eyes of the six statues inside the house staring at him through the walls, following him on his journey to the Palace. The trip to the Winter Palace felt longer than usual and it had nothing to do with the rain.


	41. The Hard Truth

It hadn’t even been a week but Calli was already tired of all these stairs. Climbing up to Von’s room twice a day was exhausting. She didn’t understand how they expected _royalty_ to climb up all these stairs just to go to their rooms. And Von was only the fifth child, how did they expect the children to climb seven flights of stairs? Maybe they were carried. That had to be it. She could barely believe that Von climbed these stairs his entire life.

He must have great legs.

She nearly missed a step. Well, enough of those thoughts. She didn’t know why she even thought it. Calli thought of Von nearly like another brother. Not an older brother like Spayar, but not a little brother like Duren either as she and Von were the same age. But like a brother regardless. Maybe she was just having odd, wishful thinking about the prince because she was afraid.

As she climbed the steps to Von’s room she rolled the idea over in her mind. She’d never had thoughts like this about Von before. She’d grown up with him as much as Spayar had, the prince often popping in for dinner unannounced, or even lunch. As she got older she’d had a crush on him, it was hard not to. He was so handsome, charming, gracious. Perfect really.

Before Spayar had gone off to Galinsum she’d realized she couldn’t have that crush. Her brother loved Von. She had been able to tell even at fifteen that Spayar was in love. Calli loved her brother too much to keep crushing on Von. After so much dedicated service she felt Spayar had earned the right to try and woo the prince if he wanted and not have to worry about the feelings of his little sister. He worried about her and Anora’s love lives enough, always asking if they fancied boys, or girls, and if the ones they did treated them kindly. He’d been so upset and sent a _very_ strongly worded letter to the family of her co-worker who’d made her uncomfortable with their advances. She’d been naive then when her employer said they’d quit because they’d found better opportunities elsewhere. Now she knew that hadn’t happened. They’d probably been fired, because of her brother, and probably Von so she would feel safe. If he’d known she’d liked Von he’d let her have that crush, maybe even help it along if he thought it’d be good for either of them.

Sometimes it was a burden to have a brother who loved you so much. Calli used to find it annoying, she’d wanted him to just go away. It hadn’t been till he was gone that she’d realized how desperately she’d missed him. How much she loved him and saw how much he did for her.

It was why she knew she could never even attempt to flirt with the prince. Even if he might have liked her; her young teenage fantasies had been full of her discovering Von fancied her. She didn’t even want to chance that she could ruin them, that she could, in her wildest dreams, steal Von’s attention from Spayar and onto her. Oh how she’d tried a few times too, when she was young. But she was still young, and was still coming into her power. She wasn’t like her mother. She could have gone to Relora and told her what she wanted and her mother would have had a chance. Of course Relora could wish for a fish to speak and it’d sing, or pray for a meal and stumble upon a feast.

So she’d dropped her crush, gotten over Von. Not hard. He had less reason to visit when Spayar wasn’t home. He was in his place as a brother figure, where he belonged.

Then _why_ was she thinking about his legs? She wasn’t thinking about Spayar’s legs, and he probably had climbed these stairs as often as Von.

Maybe it was that girlish desire to be like the damsel in the stories her mother had told her as a little girl. They weren’t feylon stories, but rather from Dirin and Riten and the Federation. Stories where a woman in trouble were rescued by a prince. Of course in the Alliance such stories often ended with the woman saving herself, or being helped by the prince, but not rescued. No in the Alliance the women did their own rescuing. 

Calli wasn’t feylon. She didn’t think of herself as such. Her blood and magic belonged to Dirin. Her skin, her hair, her features and ears all belonged to Dirin. The goddess who had claimed her was Dirin too. She was not feylon, not like her siblings. Even Anora, so much like Calli, was feylon. It made her feel better about wanting to be rescued instead of feeling she needed to rescue herself. 

She knew she was weak, her magic was young still, it would take time for her to gain the power like her mother. She didn’t know the court, or the politics of the Alliance. She knew how to be brave, how to be an Aldashi whore, how to be polite and kind and say the things people wanted to hear. Nothing a ‘proper’ feylon lady would do in her position according to the bedtime stories. No, a proper feylon woman would fight. She wouldn’t bend to anyone and would free herself from her captors, even killing them. Calli couldn’t do that. She was just a girl. Just a common girl, afraid and lost in this court praying every night and morning that someone would free her.

She was breathing hard when she reached the landing of Von’s room. Did the prince gasp for breath after climbing so many stairs? Better still was her brother short of breath? She couldn’t even imagine it. But Calli did because she was just a girl. Now she regretted not even taking sword dancing lessons like her father had wanted. Maybe it would have made her less easily winded.

Once she’d caught her breath some she looked up and down the stairs to make sure no one was there. She slipped into Von’s empty room quickly. She’d seen Anita following her more than once, narrow eyed and hateful. Calli had wished pimples onto her and been pleased when the next day the woman had appeared that day with several large zits on her face. Perhaps it was mean, but in one way Calli was feylon; she always got her revenge.

The room was as she’d left it, except for on the table in front of the couch. There were several bags and a few little boxes. She went over to them carefully and poked them. Nothing seemed amiss about them. She sat on the sofa and opened the first box. Her brows went up. It was a pastry box. The only thing in it was a cupcake with pink frosting. She ate it greedily. Anita kept all the ladies in waiting on strict diets. Calli most of all. Anita didn’t like Calli’s natural wide hips, or large butt and breasts. She’d lost some weight since she’d been forced to join Tallalsala’s ladies in waiting, but not an unhealthy amount. The cupcake, like the sugarfloss she’d bought that day on Swan Island, was a welcome sweet respite from the healthy foods she was required to eat instead.

She smiled to herself once it was gone, happy to have sugar. She looked in the other boxes, hoping for another. None. She did find three sweet buns filled with strawberry jam, and a savory bread made with olives. She saved the bread and ate the buns silently feeling ever so superior to Anita who couldn’t control her here. 

In another of the boxes she found a medallion, attached to a wide, black ribbon. She supposed that made it more of an amulet. The amulet was three fingers across in diameter and had the insignia of the Le’Acard on it, but altered. A unicorn rampart in front of some feathers with three stars around it. It took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t the Le’Acard sign. Well it was, but it wasn’t. It was the same mark Spayar bore on his own medallion. It was the sign of the _d’aelar_.

She tied it around her neck, the cool metal resting on the hollow of her throat. She doubted Spayar had found a medallion with such a mark already inscribed into it. A crowned unicorn sure, that would have been easy. It meant he’d bought it and then used his mettallurgy to alter it for her.

The rest of the gifts from her brother were more benign. A crown made of fresh cut flowers, some gelatin drops flavored like strawberries and sugar, and a green scarf made of Yellow Hills fleece.

Calli smiled to herself looking at the little presents. She hadn’t expected gifts on her naming day like she’d usually get. She didn’t even know where her brother had gotten them. She could ask, she supposed, but realized where he’d gotten them was irrelevant. “Thank you, brother,” she said to the air in a fond tone. She’d tell him tonight when she saw him.

With that in mind she got up and went to do her makeup. First she wiped off the makeup of that day, it was a bit smudged now anyway. She wanted to wear makeup like her mother would wear makeup. Her dress could support it. It was her seventeenth naming day, she wanted to look her best.

She applied a base layer to smooth out her skin a bit before selecting reds. Joy had had to come and show her several times how to apply all the makeup properly, as before now she’d never worn any. Now she was using it how she wanted. She used purple and red eyeshadow first, filling out her eyelids and even pulled the color a bit across her cheeks and up her forehead. With no red eyeliner Calli had to use red lip paint, drawing carefully along the top of her eyelid with the fine brush. She created long wings that curved up, across her temple and ended above her eyebrow. The space between the wings and her eyebrow she filled with a very light red. She used the lip paint on her lips as well. 

Then she took the normal black eyeliner and painted three small stars in a triangle configuration in the middle of her forehead. Had the long wings of her eyeliner extended they would have touched the two bottom stars. The black liner was also applied to her lower eyelid and then used it to make half moon shapes under her eyes. They were supposed to represent a second set of eyes, closed as though in slumber while the three stars represented the open third eye. 

 Nuvokon had five eyes and despite being the goddess of wells and springs her colors were red and black. Humans were wells, and produced endless springs of blood. Cut a man, make him bleed, then sew it shut and let it heal, in a few weeks he’d have the same amount of blood, and could be bled again. Nuvokon was also the goddess of sacrifice in western Dirin.

Looking at herself in the mirror Calli was satisfied. Her mother would have been proud. She didn’t dare even think the word her mother would have called her if she’d seen her now. It was a word touched with power and fear, and even uttering it here in the Alliance would get you looks. Everyone knew the stories from Dirin of her kind and how they were destroying the country from the inside out with their rebellion and civil war to overthrow the Monarchy.

She touched up a bit of her makeup, to make sure it was all properly put on and got up. Calli stripped, leaving her day gown on the floor and went where her party dress was hanging.

It was a shapeless gown that nearly dragged along the floor in the Northmen fashion. Unlike the normal linen the other Northern dresses and outfits this dress was made of orange silk with a sheer golden wrap that coiled around the dress like a fine mist. Between the silk and the sheer fabric were hundreds of tiny, hand stitched seed beads. It had been like her indigo dress Joy had made her for Tallalsala’s naming day. Only instead of sequins there were beads. They were iridescent in form, so when she moved and it caught the light it looked like she was a piece of shimmering flame. A jeweled belt hung off her waist, drawing attention to her hips and giving the gown a bit more shape.

At first she’d tried to deny the dress, saying it was too nice for a commoner like her. The tailor had said his employer, Abirid North, was very adamant that this was the dress she was to wear on her naming day. So she’d let it happen.And now here she was. At least she could just wear her own shoes, she didn’t have the need or want to break in new shoes for her naming day. She could have just wished for no blisters, but wishes didn’t always work on the wish maker for young people. Her mother could have done it, of course.

She checked herself in the mirror smiling. She’d decided to do nothing with her hair. Despite the pain Anita inflicted upon her every morning for it there was no denying that the styles Anita twisted and sculpted her hair into were the most fashionable. Calli did a little twirl in front of the mirror and decided that was quite enough.

There was no one outside the door when she left Von’s apartments and started down the stairs. This party was much smaller than Tallalsala’s, and didn’t take up the courtyard, rather just one of the ball rooms. The guards at the bottom of the tower both did a double take when she left the tower, her dress winking brightly in the light created by the magical lantern hanging over the front door. She put her head up proudly and went to the ballroom where the party would take place.

She was overtaken by a shadow in the hallway on her way to the ballroom and a hex was already forming in her mind to spit out as a curse before she realized who’d grabbed her. She saw the flash of her brother’s white teeth against his dark face before anything. The hex died before it could even cross her lips. “Spayar,” she said, joining his smile.

“This is awful,” he said, smiling still, “you look so wonderful.”

“How is that awful?” she demanded.

“Because today you’re not my kid sister anymore,” and he held her hands. “You’re an adult. Its awful. My baby sister is grown,” he kissed her lightly on the cheeks and between the eyes. His lips brushed the exact spots she’d drawn the three extra eyes.

“It’d have to happen one day,” she said proudly. Then she really looked at him. He was wearing Northern fashion, as usual for him these days. He wore a dark half coat with three-quarter sleeves over a tan long sleeved shirt. The buttons that held the half coat closed were made of gold. His _d'aelar_ medallion was affixed to a pauldron with golden yarn hanging from it. 

She smiled when she saw he was also wearing Dirinnan styled makeup, though not as extravagant as hers. He had three dots, in a vertical line, down the center of his forehead in some sort of gold paint and three dots in a triangle pattern on each cheek in the same color. He’d also painted his lips gold. As he wasn’t frowning it made him look mischievous. “You didn’t have to,” she said. He’d taken on the image of his patron too, of Densinn, or Sevok, whichever name Spayar knew him by.

“Of course I did,” Spayar scolded lightly. “I’m your brother, and tonight should be as special as I can manage. It was special for me before I left, and even though our family isn’t here we should try our best.” She nodded, blinking rapidly. 

Spayar’s seventeenth naming day had been a grand day at the Hillsman household. It’d been a celebration of both their feylon upbringing and Dirinnan heritage. All the Dirinnans their parents knew, and their feylon friends, had come. It’d been amazing to see all the Dirinnans wearing the marks of their personal gods, so that all the gods could come and celebrate Spayar’s naming day, and the feylon in their extravagant outfits. There’d been a lot of food, mostly Dirinnan food, that Spayar had been raised on, but very little drugs.

Spayar Sr. and Relora didn’t do drugs, didn’t want them in their home. Alcohol was only barely tolerated. Their father usually had a single cup with dinner after a long day at the forge but that was it. It was scandalous enough their father, a mage, drank at all. Spayar Sr. didn’t care. Everyone drank in Dirin. They’d kept the alcohol out of Spayar’s naming day party.

The party had lasted deep into the night before everyone had finally gone home. The feylon guests had been a bit grossed out when the Dirinnans, at least the first or second generation ones, had spit on the door step on their way out. A final offering of their body’s water as thanks for the food and fun they’d had.

Spayar hadn’t slept at home that night. He’d gone out to Smokers Den with his friends and even when he’d come home the next day he’d still been high and giggly. She’d never seen her brother so high, or so happy. When their father had scolded him for being out all night he’d just stood there, swaying, a huge grin on his face. During the lecture he’d just started giggling and couldn’t stop. Not even when their father had told him to shut up. Eventually Spayar Sr. had just banished Spayar to his room but not before he’d waxed poetry about the handsome men he’d seen in that part of the city. 

Looking back on it Calli, now knowing that her brother kissed for things and guessed he did _other_ _things_ as well it was obvious he’d slept with someone out there. But with not such jaded eyes she’d heard Spayar bemoan a blue-eyed man before going up to his room and sleeping off the drugs and sex he’d probably had. Of course he’d meant Von then. The man who was always just out of reach.

 _“Yenoz_ ,” she said, smiling at him.

 _“Yenoz_ ,” he grinned and hugged her. She hugged him back tightly. “I see you liked my gift then?” he asked when they parted and tapped the amulet around her neck. She nodded. “Reminder to the drugged up lordlings to mind their hands-

“Spayar,” she groaned. “I’m a woman now.”

“Yes, but you’re still my little sister. Nothing will change that,” he squeezed her hand. “Now, ready to go to your party?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “But,” she tugged on his arm when he started walking. “You must _promise me_ you will try and enjoy yourself.”

Her golden mouth frowned deeply, “Calli-

“Spayar,” she said smartly.

He huffed, “Fine. I will _attempt_ to enjoy myself,” he scoffed.

“That Abirid boy likes you,” she said and let him lead her away from where they’d been standing.

“What of it? I’m likable.”

“You know what I mean.”

“What? You’ve gone from horrified to understanding already?”

“You’re feylon, Spayar,” she said, he looked at her. “And you grew up differently than me and our siblings. “It’d be less of me to hold you to any standards I would hold to myself. We’re different, and you do as a feylon should.”

“I see,” he said, he didn’t seem happy by her words. “It isn’t like that. With him,” he continued.

“He wishes it doesn’t he?” she asked curiously.

“Yes. But often times your wishes go unanswered, no matter how you pray,” and a rock lodged itself in her throat. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Then she swallowed thickly.

“Does he fancy you?”

“Yes,” Spayar said and shrugged, “but then, many have,” he smirked. “Abirid is nothing really that special.”

“Special like the prince,” she hurt him there and she knew it. His attitude was annoying. He was playing with that man like Abirid’s feelings didn’t matter. She knew her brother did bad things, but she didn’t realize how cruel he could be.

Spayar looked at her, “No one is.”

“I see,” and she spoke no more.

They arrived at the ballroom, “Stay right here. You’re the guest of honor, you’ll have an entrance-

“Spayar,” she grabbed his arm, “Must I?” her brows creased. “Bad enough you tricked her highness into this, I don’t want to be the center of attention.”

Spayar’s eyes darted across her face and he puffed out his cheeks a bit. He was deciding something, neither option he particularly liked. “It’ll just be a moment,” he promised. “Everyone deserves to see you now,” and he pulled away. Calli did her best not to be upset. She enjoyed attention, but the center of it? Of a bunch of nobles? It made her stomach roll uneasily. It had been manageable at Tallalsala’s naming day, she’d been with Von. He’d taken most of the brunt of the attention, even if being a pretty girl sitting by his side had made her an obvious person of interest.

She waited when Spayar left her. She rubbed the fingers of one hand together anxiously. It was a surprise to her that she fidgeted. Calli made her hand still by force of will.

Spayar returned and came to her side, offering his arm. She took it. “Just smile,” he told her, his own pleasant smile plastered across his face. He looked so regal and without a shred of anxiety.

“Like this?” she asked, her voice cracking a bit from nerves.

“Try and bring it to your eyes. This party is for you. You should be happy,” and his smile shifted and became warmer. She didn’t know how he did it, if it was even real or not. “And think about how when we get out of here,” he said, leaning over to speak in her ear, “we will go join Vondugard and we will get our vengeance on this bitch.”

That did make her smile.

“Good,” Spayar said and then started forward, Calli keeping up. The doors were opened and Calli sucked in a breath when they entered the ballroom like she was about to dunk her head under water.

Most everyone was turned to look at her, walking with her brother. They’d come down from the second floor of the ballroom, which she guessed was deliberate, to make an entrance. Looking around she saw no familiar faces. None of her friends she’d grown up with, none of the Dirinnan families her parents knew, none of their neighbors or feylon friends. There was the court. She saw many soldiers, politicians, Clansmen, and courtiers.

Her dress caught the light with each step, shimmering like the scales of a silver fish. Or a golden fish really. Calli knew she and her brother had to make quite a sight, wearing Dirinnan makeup and Wenish clothes. The ball gowns and well tailored suits of the central feylon swam below them in every hue of the rainbow, some sparkled, other didn’t. 

They were all looking at her and the rock came back to her throat. She prayed for courage, putting all of her will into it. She was surprised when she felt it wash over her and it made her smile all the wider. Rarely did she ever successfully wish something onto herself. And yet she just had! She couldn’t wait to be out of here and tell her mother the good news. Self wishing was one of the first steps to becoming great.

They reached the floor and Spayar led her into the assembled crowd. Most people turned away after that, now that the performance was over. Calli still felt eyes on her, looking at her dress, her face. Those looking at her face did so curiously, inspecting her odd makeup. The eyes on her dress were drawn down to the belt, or where the dress revealed her shoulders. She didn’t really like those looks, but kept her head up, didn’t look at them or acknowledge them.

“See, not so bad,” Spayar said and guided her over to a sitting area. Abirid was sitting there, but no one else. The young lord had staked his claim here and no one else was allowed near. When he saw Calli and jumped to his feet.

“Lady Hillsman,” he took her hand“You look _marvelous_ ,” he beamed at her, his slightly pointed teeth looking more friendly than before. The thought distracted her a moment and she wondered how someone kissed with pointed teeth.

“Thank you,” she said graciously, bowing a bit.

“Come, sit,” Abirid beckoned and took her out of her brother’s hand to come sit with him. “Stay a while, the party will be long.”

“Oh well—“ she looked up for her brother and found him not joining them. In fact he was already turned away, leaving. “Where’s he’s going?”

“Ah, your brother never rests,” Abirid said. “This is a party, but yet he works.”

“Works? Works what?”

Abirid pursed his lips, “That I cannot say. Not unless he wants to tell. I just know that he’s working to continue to make Tallalsala’s attempt at power… difficult,” he said carefully.

“Oh. Why doesn’t he relax?”

Abirid scoffed, “I’ve never seen your brother relax even once. And I’ve been in the same circle as him for _years_. I don’t think he knows how.”

Calli hadn’t stopped looking at where Spayar had disappeared into the crowd. She felt sad for her brother. Working even on her naming day, to undermined Tallalsala to get them out of here. He deserved a break. She doubted he’d ever take one, but he deserved on. And not the rests he took at home, where he didn’t speak of the prince, or his duties. She could still remember him, before he’d left for Galinsum, playing with Duren and Anora. Or laying out in the yard near their mother’s garden, stretched out in the grass without a shirt on in the middle of summer, darkening his skin after a particularly long winter. He’d nearly gotten sun sickness from it when he’d fallen asleep out there. There Spayar rested, taking time from his busy life so find a quiet place for a little while until duty called him away. But it wasn’t a _break_ , an actual extended period where he could do things he wanted, and not just things he had to do.

She agreed a bit with Abirid. Maybe Spayar didn’t know when to stop. But that was so ludicrous. She’d seen him relaxed, at ease.

“He does,” she said, looking away from where Spayar had disappeared to. “He just doesn’t rest like other people do.” Resting to Spayar was being home, with his family. Helping his little siblings with their school work, taking Duren out to learn to ride a horse, showing Anora alchemy, taking them all down to Swan Island. He didn’t like being still, but just because he wasn’t still didn’t mean he wasn’t resting.

Abirid scoffed, “Yeah, right.”

She gave him a critical look, “You know?” she asked.

“I know him is all,” Abirid shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes at him a bit. There was a way he said it that told her what he meant. “Just because you’ve had sex with my brother doesn’t mean you _know_ him,” she said, hackles going up a bit. “And you’re just—“ her mouth nearly got away from her. She almost said something mean, for no other reason than to be mean.

“I’m just?” Abirid asked.

“Nothing,” she looked away, annoyed, puffing out her cheeks a bit. She’d nearly told Abirid that Spayar didn’t like him, and never would, and he was just fooling himself. It would have been mean for meanness sake. Calli had a feeling her brother would have said it. He would have been cruel to Abirid if he’d claimed such closeness where there was none.

What was that about Spayar being feylon?

A Dirinnan would scold someone who claimed intimacy or friendliness where none existed like Abirid did. It was a lie. Not a straight lie, but it was a lie. Feylon would just let it go because in the end that person was usually beneath them and thus not worth their time. But Spayar _was_ the type to scold Abirid for saying such things. Calli guessed Spayar was more Dirinnan than she’d thought.

The silence between her and Abirid stretched, nearly became awkward. Calli didn’t look at him, she just listened to the music. “You hungry?” Abirid asked abruptly, breaking the silence and tension first.

“Huh? Yes, a bit,” she admitted.

“Alright, stay here; I’ll go find us some treats,” he smiled at her and hopped to his feet. Calli watched him leave before sinking into the sofa with a bit of a huff. Abirid was a nice young man, but _so_ troublesome. She didn’t agree with it exactly, but she understood why Spayar just used the young noble and could get away with it.

Someone came to stand in front of her and she looked up. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was Captain Chevron. “Captain-“ she made to get to her feet but he just held out a hand. She sat. “Erm— can I help you?”

“May I sit?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded a little. The knight, for he was a knight, sat. He was wearing his Captain of the Guard uniform even now, his blue cape hanging half across his chest. The only thing she could see he’d done differently than usual was the way he’d styled his short hair. It was asymmetrical.

“I thought he’d never leave,” Chevron huffed and some of the hair on the back of Calli’s neck stood up. “Sort of.”

“What? Is there something you needed Captain?” she asked.

He leaned forward a bit, elbows on his knees. “Look over there, what do you see?” his eyes looked left. She turned her head. She saw the party. That probably wasn’t what Chevron wanted her to see. She looked a bit more, saying nothing. Then Calli saw, between the people moving back and forth. Her brother was standing out of the way, talking with someone, but was facing her. Even at the distance he was looking over the person’s shoulder and keeping an eye on her.

“My brother?” she asked. 

Chevron nodded slowly. “I know he’s planning something,” and Calli swallowed a bit. “Tallalsala, her incompetent Archon, and her Archmage don’t see it. They don’t want to. They’re just children really, never been in a fight. I’m not so naive.”

“I don’t know why you’re coming to me with this and not Tallalsala,” Calli said.

Chevron hesitated a moment. “I have. She’s done nothing. Your brother’s very good at flattery. He blinds her. I see it, Narn sees it. Her majesty and Sinoa don’t.”

“I still don’t—

“I need you both gone,” he said and that made her stiffen. “You and your brother make the Asuras weak. Spayar won’t let me get close to him, won’t listen to anything I have to say. He’ll see it, as he rightly should for someone in his position, as a trick.”

“See what as a trick?”

“I want to help you. Like I said, I need you gone. Easiest way would be to just have you both killed,” the hair on her arms stood up. “But I don’t have that sort of authority. Next easiest way to get you gone is to help you leave.”

“So that’s why you’ve cooperated with him,” Calli said. Then she gave a mirthless little laugh. Oh she was such a naive little girl.

“Yes. But your brother doesn’t trust me. You trust me though, don’t you,” it wasn’t a question. For an instant she hated the assumption that she trusted him. He’d been so nice to her, one of the few kind people in this place. The only one who didn’t treat her like a criminal, or a prisoner. Now she found out he was being nice to her to get close to her brother. Calli nearly wanted to weep. She hated feylon.

“Well if I did I _certainly_ don’t now,” she said,

He frowned, “Don’t be like that. I’m not a bad guy.”

“Ah yes. Being nice to the scared common girl just so she’d trust you enough to deliver some message to her brother because you can’t kill us.”

He looked down. “I won’t deny,” he said. “But I’m no worse than your brother. And trust me, I’m sure he’s wanted to kill me many times. Especially after I had to come get you those first days after the coup. I’m sure you remember.”

How could Calli forget? Those had been some of the most traumatizing days of her life. Anita had yelled at her nearly constantly. Stand up straight, her clothes were hideous, she was hideous, her hair was a wreck, she walked too slow, and the list just went on. She’d been too scared to use her magic those days. Emotion didn’t mix well with her magic. When she’d finally been allowed to see her brother she’d been so happy to see him. She’d wanted to just cry in his arms forever until all the tears had dried up. Then Chevron had come and collected her. Calli had gone on her own free will, but only because Chevron had threatened her brother.

Now she knew it was good she’d gone. Had she not he would have just used it as an excuse to kill Spayar. Then she would have been no longer useful. Tallalsala would have killed her out of anger from losing Spayar, or let her go. Chevron probably would have been punished severely for killing Spayar. But Chevron would have gotten what he’d have wanted; Spayar and Calli gone and his Asuras free from her brother’s influence.

“I honestly want to help you,” Chevron said. “And I know your brother listens to you. You’re important to him.”

“He doesn’t _need_ your help,” she hissed at him.

  “Are you so sure?” he asked.

“My brother is _d’aelar_ , are you so sure he needs help from someone like you? He takes loyalty very seriously. Here you are coming to me a traitor. He’d never trust you.”

Chevron’s face turned dark and long. He hadn’t thought of that. Or maybe he had but hadn’t thought she’d bring it up. He thought she was just some scared commoner girl. She was. She was also a Hillsman. Her father was as strong as mithril, her mother a mind like lightning. They’d fought in the Dirin civil war and come out alive, free of the corrupt Dirinnan Monarchy, and started a new life. They’d crawled up from nothing as poor immigrants in the Mire neighborhood and now lived in one of the best upper middle class neighborhoods in the entire city. Her parents were survivors and Spayar wasn’t the only one to get the best traits of their parents.

“Get out of my sight,” she said, turning away from him.

“You think you can speak to me like that?” he growled.

She looked at him cooly, “And just what could you do to me?” she asked. “You hurt me and my brother won’t even have to lift a finger to see you punished. Tallalsala may not like me, but you wouldn’t _dare_ harm me knowing the punishment she would wreck. She needs me, to make my brother come to heel. Trust me when I say, if I am hurt, he won’t easily come to heel anymore.”

Chevron’s eyes narrowed and then he stood. “Good day, Lady Hillsman,” and then he turned and left. As he did Abirid returned with a dish of treats.

“What was he doing here?” Abirid asked but Calli barely heard him. Her heart was in her throat and she wanted to cry again. She breathed in deeply through her nose to calm herself. Her hands on her thighs were balled into fists, trembling. She couldn’t quite qualify her emotions at that moment but tried and found them a complete mess. She was angry, humiliated, stressed, terrified, and felt sick to her stomach. “Calli?” he asked.

“Yes?” she asked, looking at the noble.

“What was Chevron doing here?”

A thousand things came to mind. She didn’t know if she could tell Abirid any of them. “He just wanted to see how I liked the party,” she said sweetly and smiled.

“Ah,” Abirid said. “Here, I found some things,” he offered her the food he’d brought.

“Thank you but I need to find my brother,” she got up.

“What? Okay. Why?”

She looked at him with raised brows, “You ever seen my brother dance?”

Abirid blinked, “I wasn’t aware he knew how.”

“He’s _d’aelar_ , he knows how to do everything. Excuse me,” and she got up, scanning the party.

Looking for Spayar a few men approached her, wanting a dance. She politely declined them all. Spayar found her before she found Spayar, he grabbed her wrist, making her spin in surprise. “Oh, Spayar, you startled me.”

“Sorry. What is it? You were looking for me.”

“Dance with me,” she said.

Spayar’s brows knit together, “Not today. I’m busy,” he said.

She took his hand, “Its my naming day. You’re dancing with me,” she said sweetly.

“Very well,” he said and joined her on the dance floor. The band was playing a southern waltz. The difference between southern and northern dances was the tempo. In the south they were slow, but in the north tempos sped up and became like a race. Southern music was also more strings: lutes, violas, cellos, fat bowl bottomed standing basses, spike fiddles of two, three and four string varieties and harps. This band were several spike fiddles and harps, two cellos and a standing bass. There was a timpani with this particularly band and a single flute player. A southern band was an odd choice for a naming day party, but Calli wasn’t complaining. Northern music was hard to talk while dancing to, southern music lended itself more to conversations. It was more relaxed, probably why Tallalsala had chosen it, to give her people a social party to be at ease around.

Spayar took one of her hands and put his hand on her hip. Calli hadn’t been trained in dancing like her brother, but they’d practiced some at home and yesterday so she’d know how to do the basic southern waltz. She held his shoulder with her empty hand.

At first she just focused on dancing, her dress shimmering in the magical light cast around them. Once she was comfortable with her footwork enough to not have to think about it she said, “Chevron came to speak to me.”

“I saw. What did he want?” Spayar asked. Unlike Calli he wasn’t thinking about what his feet were doing, and was looking only at her. Now and then his dark eyes would dart over her shoulder or off to the side, looking at people they danced near.

“He said he wanted to help you.”

“Sure he did.”

“He said you wouldn’t believe him either.”

“He was right.”

“He wants you, and I, dead,” she said.

“Oh? I thought he liked you.”

“Using me.”

“Prick,” Spayar said darkly. “Tell me from the beginning.” She did, recounting to the best of her ability. Spayar said nothing for several moments, just leading Calli around the dance floor to the meandering time of the band. 

Between the spike fiddles and the flute the band was playing songs she’d almost expect at a funeral. Then again, southerners made dance music about winter, the deep snows and the long nights. Their music was also about war, and the brutality of it. They’d been the first countries conquered after the sacking of Aldrin, the country Sinou had originally been from and no longer existed even as a province. Sinou had ruined Aldrin, killed thousands, freed tens of thousands from the binds of slavery, destroyed the old great cities and sung new ones into place. There was power in the old southern songs, almost magic. They all told the stories of conquest, darkness, and the slight peak of spring.

There was, of course, music made for summer. But they were songs to be sung and not played on instruments. Ballads of honor and of victory. Chants that echoed through valleys and playful rhyming hymns about children and the coming spring and robust summer. Of course there were hundreds of songs about Sinou and his _d'aelar_ Masalla and how they’d been the summer to the south. How after they’d destroyed the country of Aldrin they’d rebuilt it into an even greater splendor of peace and prosperity and despite the war that followed in the wake of the great Asuras, former slave, of the south, peace followed in his wake.

Calli had been raised half on stories of Sinou and Masalla and half on the stories of Dirin. She always liked the stories of Sinou and Masalla more. Unlike the Dirin stories that were about princes and kings or barbarians or strange people with too many or too few eyes the stories about Sinou and Masalla never cast them as anything more than people. Great people sure, but just people. 

Sinou walked through the south sewing war where he went, freeing slaves and swelling the ranks of his army with those freed slaves. He brought the first provinces into the Alliance, following the Meltong as he did. During Sinou’s reign the Alliance had been such an odd shape, clinging to the river that led down to Surassa and the Break. Sinou had built Assarus at the end of his life. His last city in the last conquest. His daughter had mostly ruled the Alliance then, to a mother who’s name had been lost in time. He’d never married, and only ever sired one child.

Masalla always followed after Sinou. Where she walked, flowers grew. Calli guessed it was only partly a metaphor. As a fey Masalla was deeply connected to the earth magicks of Gala. Flowers very well could have grown where she walked. It was probably a metaphor for what she did for Sinou. She came behind him, cleaning up his war falling behind to rebuild parts of their new country before racing forward again to meet with him on the field of battle.

It was said she was the last fey on Gala. The last of her kind in truth, and not a hybrid like Sinou. She’d brokered peace where she went, following the trail of blood left behind by Sinou. But her prowess in battle was as legendary as Sinou’s himself. Unlike many fey she hadn’t used a bow, or even a sword. Some stories said she used simply magic, singing it into a physical form like a staff. Others said she used an axe like a common woodsman. Some stories still said she was a master of all weapons, and picked up ones from the fallen dead. Depending on where in the Alliance the story came from the way or weapon she’d fought with changed. Most provinces gave her their own ‘favored’ weapon. But never a sword, never a bow.

“He’s smarter than a gave him credit for,” Spayar said, amused, drawing Calli from her thoughts about Sinou and Masalla. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, she nodded.

“What are you going to do?”

“The plan hasn’t changed. Just because Chevron knows I’m planning something means nothing. I’m always planning something. Its like saying it rains in Assarus during Neyjarra to say I’m planning something,” and she giggled.

“When?” she asked.

“Soon,” he promised. “Just a few more days. Then we can be gone.”

“I can’t wait,” Calli smiled.

“Me either,” he squeezed her hand. “You enjoying your party?”

“I know no one here. It is an empty celebration.”

Spayar frowned, “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d hoped it’d make you happy.”

“We will have a proper one for me when we see momma and papa again,” she said.

He smiled, “Yes, we will. Mom will cook herself into a frenzy for it.” That made her laugh. 

“And then complain when there’s so much food left over.”

“Insist we’re not eating enough,” Calli laughed again.

“That will be a true celebration,” she said. “Not like this,” she said, looking around. The party was full of nobles and Tallalsala’s people. No one she knew. No one she could relate to. “Though I understand its purpose.”

“Good,” Spayar said. “The party in Gorum won’t have such purpose.”

“I hope so.”

Spayar stopped them at the edge of the dance floor. “You don’t have to stay if you want,” he said. “You made your appearance, I my point, there’s nothing really here for you.”

Calli did her best not to sniff. This was her brother telling her her own party wasn’t for her. She’d known that. But being told in such a way was different than knowing. She tried not to be so upset. “I can leave?” she asked.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Come with me?” she asked.

Spayar hesitated for half a moment. “Very well. Let me go tell Abirid I’m leaving,” and they stepped off the dance floor. He left her standing there to go find Abirid. 

She waited, looking around a bit. A ways off she saw Narn and Chevron speaking. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, and they appeared to be whispering but it was with great agitation. Either they were arguing with each other, or complaining about someone neither of them liked. It wasn’t too difficult to think of just _who_ that could possibly be.

Spayar returned, Abirid behind him. “We’re all in agreed this party sucks,” Spayar said.

She smiled slightly, “Feylon don’t know how to throw parties,” and she took her brother’s arm when it was offered to her. Annoyance flashed across Abirid’s face before he either got over it, or covered it up.

“Its really just royalty that have the problem,” Abirid said, walking next to her. “Tallalsala is the only one who can throw a half way decent one. Vondugard could throw a good one. The others didn’t bother. You want to see a party, you should come to the wedding of my brother and his wife when it happens. The Norths do nothing half way.”

Calli looked at Spayar, then over at Abirid. “I’d be delighted,” she said.

“Then I’ll tell my mother to add the Hillsmans to the guest list. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled,” Abirid said cheerfully, flashing her a peaked tooth grin. Calli gave him a slightly strained smile in return as they left the party and headed for the tower for Calli to change clothes. 

 


	42. The Ibis

The sky was clear, there were no clouds or mist and the sky was the most perfect blue Diylan had ever seen. It would have been a perfect day if not for Gard’s choked sobs. Diylan tried to be a bit apathetic about it like his flight instructor had been but it was impossible. Gard was his friend, and his prince and Diylan was killing him.

It’d been fourteen days since they’d started. Not even two weeks. It didn’t seem like they were making any progress. Diylan had to keep reminding himself that this was a slow progress. It had taken him three weeks before it stopped hurting and his flight instructor could actually start to tune his belsong. That didn’t help Diylan much when he saw Gard laid out on the ground, curled up in a ball, forced to soak in sunlight after having his belsong cut in half.

They’d started bringing a quilt, so Gard didn’t hurt himself on the rocky ground of the mountain after Diylan cut him. It was humbling to see his prince like this. Half naked and crying, clutching at the quilt as a pain Diylan couldn’t understand ran rampant through his body.

The cutting Diylan knew. That pain always lingered after a cut. But lightsickness was something Diylan had never experienced. As it was he was a lunar willed person, so he didn’t know what it was like to get power from the sun even before his belsong had been turned to putty. Magi and wizards who burned through a lot of power could refill with sunlight if they were solar or moonlight if they were lunar, but it had to be in controlled or they’d get lightsick. Quite literally the power influx in their bodies made them ill. He’d seen war magi vomit in a battlefield after expending massive amounts of power. Healers who sent themselves to fevers after surgery and then stepped into the sun for too long. Wizards who collapsed after a long day of work and went out to have fun at night before being touched by direct moonlight. It could be dangerous if the magician wasn’t careful. Thankfully never fatal but becoming bedridden for days was a possibility. Lightsickness always hurt too.

Gard described it like he was being flayed alive on a table.

“Alright Hathus I think that’s enough,” Diylan said and she lifted her wing to cast Gard in shadow. Gard gave a muffled sob of relief as Diylan knelt next to him. Gard was basically limp as Diylan made him sit up and pulled a hooded sleeved shirt on him. Diylan hugged the shivering prince.

“You know you need to do this,” Diylan said and held up an incense stick. Henna had given it to him. She said it was for good fortune and well being. Apparently the lai believed that stuff. It required more precision than a candle so it didn’t just burn to ash. While Gard’s belsong was still too stiff for tuning he was becoming more precise with using magic even with a crumbly belsong.

Gard groaned and nodded. He took several deep breaths, knowing more pain was coming, before reaching out. He squeezed the tip of the incense rod and when he removed his fingers the tip was a glowing ember and the rod smoked slightly. The scent was sweet and vibrant like how you’d imagine the color yellow to smell.

“Good, very good,” Diylan said encouragingly. “We’re done for today now.”

“Ya,” Gard said weakly against his chest. “I want to go back now. I’m hungry.”

“Alright,” and Diylan stood up, carrying Gard with him. The prince wasn’t small or light but the kid was exhausted. After fourteen days of this he could barely walk on his own afterwards. Fourteen days of just cutting wouldn’t have left him so weak, it was the daily sunsickness on top of it that made him so. He pulled Gard’s hood up when they entered the sun. Gard winced but the pain wasn’t so great like when he’d been shirtless. Diylan went and gathered up the quilt once he’d strapped Gard into Hathus’ harness, folding it and then tucking it into the straps of Hathus’ harness. She shifted a bit once he’d fit it in to get it to sit right and he mounted up behind Gard.

Gard fell asleep against Diylan’s chest as they flew down to Lo-Gashuai. As always people gathered around where Hathus landed, pointing and ooing-and-aahing. The spectacle of it had worn off for Diylan. He wanted people to  _stop_  looking at him, looking at his wyrms. As it was they stared because he was so tall, and because of his green on black eyes. His hair didn’t take the dye very well either and after a few washes had started to fade. Now his hair was just sort of a weird super dark orange-gray shot through with silver. The silver parts of his hair hadn’t even lasted three days dyed before it’d all just washed out. He knew they stared because of that, and probably talked behind his back about his hair. It pissed him off.

When Hathus landed in front of the palace, across the moat, she spun in a circle, whipping her huge tail and wings around. People cried out and ran away. She growled at them. He hadn’t told her to do it but she could feel his need for privacy through their bond.

Diylan dismounted and summoned a big wyrmling right above the moat about fifty feet away from Hathus. It crawled out onto land and people pointed at it excitedly, distracted by the little dragon that had come from their moat. It let Diylan wake Gard and get him down from Hathus.

After his short nap Gard could stand and walk on his own. Diylan checked the quilt was secure before letting Hathus go. She opened her own portal above the moat and jumped into it. Diylan held onto Gard’s shoulder while his vision flickered off and on again. Diylan left the wyrmling for the people to be distracted by and shepherded Gard across the bridge to the palace. The wyrmling slithered into the water, following them, and through a portal, leaving the people on the other side to protest as the dragon left.

Once on the other side of the moat they went down to the kitchen. At first the cooks had been worried about why Diylan had shown up in the kitchen, thinking they were in trouble or Gard was unhappy with the food. Now they knew Gard just wanted food. The head cook, a man with a fantastic mustache that hung down to the middle of his chest, just had a little table and chairs set up for them at this point.

Gard sat, eyes half closed. There was already food on the table. The head cook knew when they’d come so just made it available. Today it was rice soup with a flavorful broth, carrots, and cubes of meat that had come from the long necked sheep Diylan had seen the first day in Anokai. Apparently they were called  _alpaca_. Diylan didn’t have any. He didn’t like alpaca, he thought it tasted stringy.

Gard ate his soup, spilling about half of each spoon back into the bowl and half of that again onto the table. His hand shook a little as he ate, but nothing that prevented him from eating. Diylan just waited for him to finish patiently. “Feel better?” Diylan asked once Gard had finished most of the soup.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Still hurts a bit. I miss Spayar.”

“I miss Spayar too,” Diylan said.

“You think I’ll ever see him again?”

“Yes.” Gard said nothing more but he looked like he had something to say. “What is it? Tell me,” Diylan prodded.

“I had a dream last night,” Gard said, but sounded confused by his own confession.

“Yeah? About what?”

“I’m not sure. I saw a woman. She looked like the paintings of Masalla; a fey.”

“You dreamed of a fey?”

“Sort of. I think it was a fey. They had fey ears but I couldn’t see their face and were surrounded by a white light. I couldn’t really make out any of the other features,” Gard said, still sounding confused.

“That’s good,” Diylan said.

“Good?” Gard looked at him.

“Yes. When you learn to summon and your belsong becomes accustomed to the act of what it takes it starts reaching out for its natural tune. Your summon starts to appear in your dreams as it connects with its natural summon. Your natural summon is dependent largely on your environment. In the Wyrd with so many flighters around their summoning influences wyrmlish belsongs to be natural towards wyrms. Same for other summoners.

“Your belsong can also just naturally be inclined to something. Like necromancers, even not trained in the Garden, have the innate ability to summon nercros,” they were one of the few summoners like that. Gard didn’t need to know that though. He just needed to know that this was normal. “I guess cause you’re a Le’Acard you have the natural inclination to fey.”

“Oh,” Gard said. “That is good. It means… soon?” he ventured.

“Could be another few weeks,” Diylan told him, frowning. He watched Gard’s face drop and turn pale.

“I see,” he said and looked away, going back to what was left of his soup. He slurped down the last bit loudly so the cooks could hear him. It was good manners to slurp in Anokai, like it was in some provinces back home. “Well, tomorrow then.”

“Yes,” Diylan said.

“I’m going to go lay down for a bit,” and Gard got up.

Diylan followed after him but let him go into his room alone. He sighed, sat on the porch that overlooked the moat and water garden and rubbed his face. What was he doing? Gard wasn’t dying, but he hadn’t been well in fourteen days since they’d started this. He hoped Spayar never saw or heard about what Gard had gone through in Anokai, he’d never let Diylan, or Gard, hear the end of it.

He sat, watching the garden for a while. Wading birds stood in the shallows by the porch, watching the water for little silver fish or spineback hatchlings. After sitting there for a while he sighed and put his left hand over his heart.

“Perunaz,” he said softly in prayer. “I know we don’t talk often but… I need you. Please. I don’t know if I’m doing this right. I don’t know if I’m killing him. I don’t want him to die from my failure,” his head bowed, and he leaned over his legs, putting his hands on his knees, bowing while sitting. “Just… give me a sign maybe? Just so I’m not screwing this up horribly. Please?”

He looked up, the water garden was the same. He sighed, nothing had changed. Perunaz either wasn’t listening, or decided watching him stumble was more amusing than helping him. That was just his luck. Not that Diylan expected Perunaz to fix anything. Just a sign would have been nice. At this point Diylan would have taken anything.

But there was no sign. Diylan was alone here, figuring it out by himself. The gods might as well have been spitting on his and Gards’ corpses.

“Everything okay Diylan?” he looked over his shoulder at the sound of Henna’s voice.

“Oh- uh, yeah, everything’s just fine,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

“I see. Is Vondugard well? The Go-Sana has been worried, as we haven’t seen much of him the past few weeks.”

Diylan refused a grimace. “He’s just been stressed out lately. He’s worried about the message he sent across the Sea and the Conflict. If he fails in it, he dies.”

“Yes,” she said, “It is a strange, bloody, tradition of your royals. Why do you allow it?”

Diylan didn’t answer right away. “Because we can’t stop it,” he said. “Trust me, feylon and Asuri have tried. The Conflict always reigns in the end.”

She came and sat next to him on the porch. “I can only imagine what it must be like to know if you lose, you die,” she said. “Though I also wonder why the lai and the aslai fight amid each other so much now. We used to be unified, now we are not,” she frowned. “I know many people who would do anything for Sengai and Anokai to be one once more.”

“I’m sure they would,” Diylan said, but he wasn’t paying attention to her really.

“You are troubled,” she said after a minute. “What’s the matter?”

“Just the same,” he said. “Don’t worry your pretty head over it,” he smiled at her nicely. “Its just feylon things.”

“Don’t think I would understand.”

“No,” Diylan said, “you wouldn’t.” He saw he’d hurt her feelings. He didn’t really care. He had bigger things to worry about than a woman’s feelings, especially one who’d probably never bed him anyway. He was a selfish jerk in that respect. He got to his feet, “I want to be alone right now,” he said and went to his room.

“Very well,” he heard her say even as he closed the door with a sigh. He looked around the grand room and stopped, staring when he saw what sat on the window sill of the far wall. It was a white ibis, a small one, standing on the sill of the window he’d left open last night. It was looking right at him.

“Thank you,” Diylan said. The white ibis was the symbol of Ixcha, eldest daughter of Perunaz. She was the goddess of rain and clouds and had as much to do with the sky and wyrms as her father. Perunaz wasn’t watching Diylan over here in Anokai, but Ixcha was. She’d heard his prayer to her father.

Diylan went over to the bird and it shuffled away from him. He reached out and before it could get away wrapped his hand around its neck and got the bird’s body under his arm. It flailed and tried to flap away without luck. Diylan wasn’t stupid after all. The ibis was the symbol of Ixcha because they were the birds you sacrificed to her when you wanted to give thanks to her. Ixcha had sent this ibis to Diylan for him to give to her for listening to his prayer. She was a girl after all, and girls loved gifts. Gifts that could get her to speak to her father.

He snapped the bird’s neck in his big hand and laid it on the sill. He found a long metal rod, it looked like a letter opener, with a single sharp side that could barely pierce flesh. He shrugged out of his flak jacket and rolled up the sleeves to his shirt. He used the letter opener to cut the bird open right there on the sill. His hands quickly became bloodied. He touched his bloodied index finger under each eye and then to his chin. He tore open and opened the stomach. Half digested fish, amphibians and stomach acid spilled out on the outside of the window sill. He stuffed the rest of the innards inside the stomach. He then yanked the bird closed and summoned a wyrmling.

It came from the moat outside the window like a massive snake, all wet scales and black eyes with a slit of white for a pupil. It raised its head up to be level with Diylan. He didn’t have it on a leash and it was sizing him up as though to eat him.

He spun his belsong into a thread and laid a web across the carcass of the ibis. In his sight it was a lime green patchwork. He drew his name on the back of each wing of the bird. The wyrmling hissed at him and then struck. Not at him, it snatched the bird off the sill and stole it back into the water where Diylan opened another portal. He felt the wyrmling race through, to whatever existence was beyond the portal, one where the gods must live.

“I’m taking this as the sign I asked for,” Diylan said, standing there, hands bloody. He looked up at the sky where a single white cloud drifted above Lo-Gashuai like Ixcha herself was atop it. “If it wasn’t then give me a fucking better sign because I’m an  _idiot_.”

There was no reply.


	43. Rewards

The rain had been so terrible it had washed out the roads. Even for Assarus the rain had been harsh and no one had moved about that day. Except Spayar who’d gotten a runner at the crack of dawn outside of his room, soaked in rain. They hadn’t worn the blue of the post office, rather the noble colors of the house of North. They’d had a message from Abirid that had simply said; ‘come now’.

So he was now in the rain, on foot, walking across the bridge that crossed the Meltong in Fey’s Shadow. Rain splashed across his hat and he wore his muffler up to keep the rain off his face as much as possible. It wasn’t a hard rain, it had simply been raining for the past four days straight. The night of Calli’s naming day it had started and not stopped. Everyone in Assarus had taken cover inside, only leaving home if they absolutely had to. Many of the shops had shut down yesterday and not reopened today since not even the weather mages knew exactly when this torrent would end. It could be tomorrow, it could be in a week. Those who lived along the edge of the river and the lake had been advised to seek shelter elsewhere if the rain continued for much longer, since even the Meltong could only take so much before even it flooded.

At the gate to the Northern estate Spayar was met by the squinty eyed look of the lone guard, wearing a heavy rain coat over his liverly. Rain ran in rivers down the sides of his helm. “You have business here?” he asked above the rain on the flagstones.

“Abirid North summoned me, I am Spayar Hillsman,” Spayar said through the damp cloth across his mouth.

“Aye, the young master is expecting you,” and the guard banged on the gate. It was opened and Spayar slipped through.

The lush and bright foliage of the North estate was washed out. Not even the flowers along the drive were out and were closed up from the rain. The palms did little to help keep the rain off Spayar as he marched up to the door. Thankfully that was covered and when he banged the knocker he was at least out of the rain. He removed his muffler and did his best to wipe his face. Despite his coat and hat he was still a bit damp and chilly.

The butler got the door, the same one who’d nearly sent Spayar away the last time he’d come here. He took one look at Spayar and let him right in. “The young master awaits you in the library,” he said, “down the hall there, third door,” he indicated.

“Thank you,” Spayar said, removing his hat and unwinding the scarf he wore. He left a trail of water in his wake as he went where he was directed. Spayar unclasped his raincoat before arriving at the library. The door was open, he went right in.

Abirid was there with a man he didn’t know. They were  _very_  wennick and had a straight nose with large nostrils and extremely large, piercing black eyes set in deep brows with skin like wet leather. They both turned to Spayar when he arrived.

“I got your message,” Spayar said as a greeting.

“And came immediately,” Abirid was ever so pleased. “Spayar, this is Ward G’faso,” he said and it was the only time Spayar had ever heard Abirid’s Wenish accent.

“Hello,” he said and bowed to Ward. “I am Spayar Hillsman,  _d'aelar_  to Vondugard Le’Acard.”

“I am well aware who you are,  _d’aelar_ ,” Ward said, but not in a cruel way. “We hear things in the North. My lady has been watching you and your prince for some time.”

That was news to Spayar. “She has?”

“Yes. Which is the only reason I’m here after you told her you wouldn’t arrange for her daughter and Vondugard to wed.”

“And that stays,” Spayar said.

“Lady North will live with your counter offer but know if you’d been any less I wouldn’t be here and you’d be out of luck I’m afraid.”

“Good thing I’m me then.”

Ward’s lips twitched in amusement, his eyes dancing with playful mischief. “Yes. She warned me to make no extra deals with you.”

“Did she now?”

“She insisted you could convince a golem to disobey its creator.”

“I won’t tell you she’s wrong,” Spayar said with a wry grin. It was, of course, complete hyperbole. As constructs golems were bound to the will of their alchemic makers, or whoever it was who’d supplied the life source. It was physically impossible to sway a golem’s allegiance.

“Now tell me what you need me for.”

“My sister has a death spell on her. I don’t dare try to unweave it, I’m not skilled enough and she’s untalented. My unweaver friend is currently elsewhere dealing with another situation and couldn’t assist.”

“Ah,” Ward said. “That should be no trouble at all. A simple procedure. We will begin tomorrow, hopefully the rains will have stopped by then. Sound fair?”

“Yes,” Spayar said.

“Good. I look forward to meeting your sister and hope she is just like you,” Ward smiled a strange smile Spayar couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. “I will come to the palace tomorrow with the young master, after breakfast.”

“I will see you there,” Spayar said.

“Good. The young master wished to speak to you alone. I will see you gentlemen later. _D’aelar_ ,” and he bowed to Spayar a bit before exiting the library. That left just Spayar and Abirid.

“He was ni-CE!” Spayar yelped when suddenly Abirid was in front of him, arms around his neck, the most self satisfied smirk he’d ever seen stretched across the young noble’s face.

“I told you,” he said sweetly, leaning against Spayar.

“Abirid, I’m all wet-

“Don’t care,” he said nicely. “The messenger who was sent for you also visited Tallalsala. She’s been informed I am ‘taking you hostage’ for the rest of the day.”

Spayar gave him an unamused look, “Really now?”

“Yes,” Abirid smiled. “Good news got me a kiss, but here is the unweaver. What’s that get me?”

Spayar just frowned at him, “I had plans today.”

“They don’t matter now,” Abirid said. “Tomorrow you and Calli will be free of Tallalsala so whatever plots or schemes you have are useless. Tallalsala will know the moment Ward unweaves her spell and then she will try to come for you and you’ll have to leave immediately. So what’s the point of plans?” he asked, his fingers toying with the tail of Spayar’s hair. “Not to mention you’ve been so high strung lately. You deserve a break,” he said sweetly and stood back a bit from Spayar, running his hands down his chest to take his hands.

Spayar knew he shouldn’t go with Abirid. He knew how this would end. Namely; sex. Before he wouldn’t have been so opposed to it but after talking with Calli about just  _what_  Spayar would do if needed it made him feel weird. Like he was no better than a prostitute who opened their legs for money. He knew it was more complex than that, but his sister had that effect on people.

When Abirid drew Spayar towards the door he went with the noble. Abirid’s smile just grew and showed off some of his filed teeth. “I guess I do,” Spayar said slowly.

“You do. I’m sure Calli will understand,” Abirid said soothingly.

“How’d you-

“Please. I’m not  _that_  stupid. You’re a feylon Spayar, don’t let her put anything into your head that you’re anything but that. You’re not a Dirinnan and this is what feylon do.”

“At least tell me you have something to smoke around? I haven’t had any drugs since I visited the Garden back in the beginning of Asurala,” he complained.

“I do,” Abirid said, leading him upstairs. “Fun first, then you’ll get a job well done smoke,” and Spayar snorted.

“Fine,” he said, allowing himself to smile. “Not like I can do a bad job anyway.”

“No you can’t,” Abirid said slyly. When they got into Abirid’s room Spayar let the noble yank his rain coat off and it thumped loudly to the ground. Then Abirid kissed him and dragged towards the bed by the front of his pants. “Or you better not,” he added.

“Shut up Abirid,” Spayar said and pushed him back onto the bed. He unbuckled his damp pants and yanked his cold shirt up over his head and threw it off to the side. Abirid’s face was nearly split in two when Spayar joined him on the bed, pushing him up towards the pillows with teasing kisses and rough hands.

The rain continued outside. Neither of them noticed when it slowed to a drizzle, before finally stopping.

—

Spayar had gone to sleep in his bed in the palace still a bit high. When he woke up he felt like his head was full of clouds. The day before was crystal clear in his memory. It was full of Abirid.

Spayar yawned and rolled out of bed, going to the bathroom to wash his face, piss, and focus on what was to happen today. Yesterday had been necessary to keep his alliance with the Norths. If Abirid was kept happy he kept giving his mother good news. Spayar had a feeling that when Sawan was happy those in her employ, if you will, were happy and when she wasn’t happy you were miserable. He knew enough of the Baroness to guess that. So keeping Abirid happy was part of that alliance.

He’d bathed before he’d left the North’s last night. Right? The end had been a bit foggy. He did know that his dick was sore and it was sort of awkward to walk. After taking care of business in the bathroom he checked and saw the inside of his thighs were bruised.

“Gods damnit Abirid,” he growled. He recognized the marks of Abirid’s filed teeth as the originators of the bruises. Just what he needed; crotch hickeys. Why was sex so totally unsexy after the fact? He hoped the noble looked even worse.

Spayar dressed for the morning and went to see the palace healers. He took the healer laughing at him for having bruises on the inside of his thighs while they reduced the swelling and accelerated the healing process. He left the infirmary about as red faced as his dark skin could get. He would make Abirid pay for this, somehow, one day.

He went to see Tallalsala for breakfast. The sky was lightening as he walked across the courtyard and when he looked up he was surprised to see blue skies. Clouds hung like puffy bits of cotton in the sky above but there were no dark thunderheads. The sun was still low, below the roof of the palace but it promised to be a beautiful day that day. Spayar smiled to himself as he reentered the palace where he met Tallalsala for breakfast.

Tallalsala was there already, as was Narn and Sinoa. Calli and Tallalsala’s friend Anita were also there. Calli was pouring everyone morning tea, Anita was sitting, head close together, gossiping with Tallalsala. The princess only glanced at Spayar when he entered and sat.

“You seem in a good mood  _d’aelar_ ,” Sinoa said.

“It isn’t raining. Why shouldn’t I be?” Spayar said.

“Because you hate everything,” Nard growled.

“Well that’s untrue,” Spayar said and then turned and smiled at his sister when she came to pour his tea for him, “I love my sister very much.” He knew she was blushing a bit from that. “So I don’t hate everything. Just some things,” and Narn glared at him. Sinoa wisely sipped his tea to hide a smug grin.

“What did Abirid need of you yesterday?” Sinoa asked. “Tallalsala said you were discussing things of great import.”

“Ah—“ Spayar looked at Tallalsala. He was surprised she hadn’t told them. Did she not trust Sinoa and Narn? Why would she lie to them? It was well known that Spayar and Abirid were ‘lovers’. “Yes, nothing I can speak of at this time though, its nothing official,” he said. “Just him telling me things his mother thought we should know.” He had nothing to lose with his next statement, “Like that Teldin visited Harinfall a few days ago.” Spayar didn’t know how Abirid had gotten that information, he had to assume from a flighter.

That got Tallalsala’s attention. “He did? What did he want?”

“What you have, your majesty,” Spayar said. “An alliance. But of course since she’s already chosen her side he was too late. From what Abirid said he was expelled rather harshly from Harinfall.”

“Do you know where he’s going?”

“No,” Spayar said truthfully. “I only know what Abirid shared.”

“Hmm, I see. Did he have anything else to share?”

The previous day flashed through Spayar’s mind. Many things had been said, including Spayar getting actual information out of Abirid post coitus while they’d smoked. Nothing he wanted to share with Tallalsala. “Nothing quite ready to be of use yet-

“You were there all day, you didn’t get anything important from him?” Narn demanded.

“Well he could only talk for about half the day,” Spayar said brashly. “And that was when he wasn’t high on storm weed.”

Narn looked disgusted, Sinoa just laughed, Anita rolled her eyes and Tallalsala flushed. The only one he cared to see was that Calli looked disappointed in him. He stubbornly reminded himself he was a feylon, and that before the last few days he’d never cared about his casual sex or using sex to get things he wanted out of people. He looked away from her.

“Well,” Tallalsala said, “that is what he meant when he said he was ‘borrowing’ you.”

“I am but a play thing of nobles,” Spayar said carelessly.

Breakfast was uneventful after that. Afterwards Spayar found Calli as she went to follow Tallalsala. He motioned to the princess that he was holding her back. Tallalsala just turned her back and continued on her way. Anita was still chewing her ear off, as she had been all breakfast. “Spayar, why do you do that?” she asked before he could even say anything.

“Do what?” he asked, caught off guard.

“You had sex with him again.”

“Yes, I did. Several times in fact. Not important,” he said and she made a grossed out face. “What  _is_  important is that the unweaver is here,” he said and grabbed her hands, squeezing them.

“Why did you do it? You don’t love him.”

“Because its what I do Calli. I do things I don’t want to to get things I want. I did it so you would be free,” he kissed her on the cheeks and between the eyes. “So you wouldn’t have this damn curse over you any more. So we could leave and go find mom and dad in Gorum. So we can go together to fight for Vondugard and come back and make Tallalsala regret the day she tangled with our family,” he ended darkly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now drop it-

“Do momma and daddy know you do this?”

“What? Why?”

“Do they?”

“Yes?”

“They do and allow it?”

“Calli,” Spayar held her arms. “I’m not like you. Our parents knew I’d never be the first born they wanted. To take over dad’s forge, to be an upstanding Dirinnan boy. The moment Von came into our lives they knew that while I am Dirinnan born I am feylon to death. They don’t care I sleep around, so long as I don’t bring the boys home. They don’t care I smoke or make trouble or run with thieves, murderers, or whores. So long as it stays away from  _you_  and Anora and Durin. Now drop it.

“Me having sex with Abirid is insignificant. What’s important is that doing so makes him happy, which makes his mother happy, which makes our side stronger. That’s why I do this and why I’m always telling you to  _not_ be like me. Do you understand?”

She searched his face, then nodded slowly. “Good,” he said and stroked her arm a bit. “This is almost over,” he promised. “I told Abirid we’d meet him and the weaver in Von’s room, after breakfast. They should be arriving soon. Do you have somewhere you need to be? Will Tallalsala miss you if you don’t go with her?” She shook her head. “Then we should head there.”

“Spayar,” Calli said as they walked towards the tower.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He looked at her, “ _Esm yenozta_.”

 _“Yenozta,_ ” she smiled at him.

They climbed up to Von’s room and didn’t have to wait too long. Half a bell before there was a knock. Spayar got the door and Abirid and Ward entered. “Took you long enough,” Spayar said.

“We had to wait till she’d left the tower,” Abirid shrugged. “Calli, this is the weaver, Ward G’faso. He’s here to remove your curse.”

“Hello,” she said with a slight bob of a bow.

“Such a pleasure,” Ward said. “I hope this won’t take very long, I wish to go home, as I’m sure you do as well.”

“Yes,” she said softly, longingly.

“Then please sit and we will begin,” Ward said. Calli sat on the couch and Ward went and stood above her. Spayar sat next to her and she grabbed his hand, he squeezed it reassuringly. “Tallalsala was not messing around with this,” Ward said.

“But you can unweave it, right?” Spayar asked.

“Of course. What do you take me for? Some hedgewitch?” Ward said, insulted. “Now just stay still Calli, this will only take a moment.”

“Okay,” she said softly.

They sat in silence while Ward did whatever it is he had to do with the weave. Spayar looked between Ward and Calli every few seconds. At first Ward looked confidant but as minutes ticked by he started to look frustrated and increasingly nervous. That in turn made Spayar very  _very_  uneasy.

“You almost done?” Spayar asked after nearly ten minutes.

“You cannot rush an unweaver  _d’aelar_. Our work is delicate. Especially for something like this. Everything is fine,” and while his voice was soothing Spayar could tell by his face that everything was  _not_  fine.

Spayar pulled magic up over his eyes to see what was happening. He frowned. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was seeing. It was just a writhing mass of magic in a cloud around Calli’s head, so thick he couldn’t see her face. He lowered the magic and saw normally once more.

“Mr. G’faso,” Calli said after a few more minutes.

“Yes?” Ward asked.

“Am I supposed to be feeling a sensation?”

Ward didn’t answer right away and Spayar saw panic flash across his eyes. “No. What sensation do you feel?”

“A strange tightness, about my neck,” and she reached up to touch her throat.

“Nothing to worry about-

“Its starting to hurt now,” Calli interrupted him and looked at Spayar wildly. “It hurts a lot,” and Spayar felt all the blood drain out of his face as he saw her trying to breathe in. When she talked air went out, but not back in.

“What’s going on?” Spayar asked, trying not to sound panicked, barely able to breathe himself. “Ward, unweave the damn curse.”

“I am it is just-

“Now!” Spayar cried.

“If I move too quickly it’ll trigger finally and-

“If you don’t she’ll suffocate!”

Ward was doing something but Spayar wasn’t paying attention to him. He was looking at his sister. Her face was a pale and her lips were blue from lack of air. “Spayar,” she said, her voice thin and strained.

“Don’t talk, it’ll be okay,” he assured her, holding her hands.

“Can’t bre-

“Calli, stop talking. You’re wasting air,” he said and held her face in his hands. “Just focus on me. Everything going to be okay. Ward,” he snapped and only glanced at the weaver.

“I’m trying,” Ward said. “The princess didn’t want anyone touching this.”

“Do something or she’ll die,” Spayar said. “Calli,” he looked at her, terrified.

“I wish I was free,” she whispered. Unlike him her eyes were full of hope. All the hopes and dreams she’d had for this moment reflect back in his terror.

“Ward?” Spayar asked.

There was several seconds of silence. “Fuck it,” he heard Ward mutter and even Spayar felt when the curse suddenly was snapped apart. Whatever was squeezing her wind pipe was gone. She could breathe again.

Calli gasped and Spayar breathed for the first time in what felt like minutes. She took two deep breaths, “Spayar!” she cried happily before her smile suddenly faded. He heard Ward curse loudly. Spayar just was looking at Calli. Her eyes had suddenly lost all focus and she was still, her mouth slightly open from her smile but it was directionless.

“Calli?” Spayar asked softly. “Calli,” he said and gave her a little shake. Her head bowed forward limply on a broken neck. Spayar stared at his sister. Or rather, what had once been his sister.

Spayar said nothing for several minutes. He closed his eyes a moment and tears jumped to them but he didn’t have time to shed them. Instead he opened his eyes and looked up at Ward who looked down at Spayar equal parts ashamed, regretful, and apologetic.

“ _D’aelar_ ,” Ward started, “I… I tried,” he said helplessly.

Spayar looked from Ward to his sister. “You killed her,” he said softly. “You killed my sister,” he felt lost.

All his plans. His meticulous schemes. They were all for naught now. None of it mattered. His sister was dead. She was dead, and his schemes and plans and plots had killed her. His carelessness had put her in his situation and now his carelessness had failed her again. He could hear Ward talking, but the words were meaningless. All Spayar heard was a whooshing noise.

He hugged the body to him. It was still warm. Still smelled like her. Her soul was still there, it wouldn’t leave the body until a necrell came for it. That wouldn’t happen until a necromancer performed the service that called one of them. She was still in there. But her body was dead, lifeless.

“Spayar?” Abirid touched his arm and he shrunk away like Abirid was a white hot rod. “Spayar, I’m sorry-

“Get away from me,” he said.

“What?” Abirid’s eyes were wide.

“Get away from me. Don’t touch me. Don’t  _ever_  touch me again,” and Abirid blinked rapidly like he was holding back his own tears. He looked up at Ward, “You better leave before I come to my senses and kill you,” he said softly still feeling and sounding far away to his own ears. Ward swallowed and tugged on his collar.

“Spayar we just-

“I said get away from me!” he yelled when Abirid tried to touch him again.

Abirid stood slowly, away from him. “Alright,” he said, voice thick. Spayar didn’t see or care where they went. He just held Calli to him. He didn’t even know what to do. His sister was dead. His baby sister who he always swore would be the first child his parents had wanted, who wouldn’t get mixed up in feylon messes, who he’d keep far  _far_  away from the royals. She was dead.

He didn’t even cry. He could barely even think.

“Spayar,” Abirid said, his voice drawing Spayar from his grief momentarily. “I uh… I’m sure you want to go to Gorum. I had Ward put a weave on her, so she won’t… so she’ll stay the way she is till you get there.” Spayar looked up at Abirid but said nothing. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Go away,” and Spayar looked away.

“Very well. I know when I’m not wanted,” and he heard the door close.

Spayar sat there for a long time. Until he could think of more than just his own failure to protect his little sister. He needed to get her to Gorum, for their parents. So she could have a funeral. He still didn’t get up at first and it took him a long time to stand. When he did he picked her up under the knees and shoulders.

The metal handle of the door turned and opened on its own when he got near and he walked down the spiral stairs with with Calli. Her head hung limply over his arm and it jostled with each step. The guards outside the tower said nothing to him when he walked out and headed for the entrance.

Jill was waiting with his mare at the front door. “Jill I-

“Abirid told me to get her ready for you,” he said. “I’m with you,” he said. Verbal short hand for saying you felt the same grief as the person who’d just lost a loved one.

“Thank you,” Spayar said.

“Let me help you,” and Jill held Calli while Spayar mounted up. It took him three tries. His hands felt numb. His entire  _body_  felt numb. When he was in the saddle Jill handed his sister up to him. He sat the body in front of him, her head rested on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Spayar said.

“We’ll pray,” Jill said. “For a swift end for whoever did this to your sister.” Spayar just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Not trusting himself to not say that  _he_  had killed Calli. “And when Tallalsala comes looking for ya I’ll tell her you’re long gone.”

Spayar could only nod and then nudged his horse into a walk. They left the front drive and down the road that led to the Fork. The Fork was a pair of roads at the edge of the city where Middleton and Sinoulin met. From the city road it turned into the Southernlance that led down to Surassa if you went west. If you took the eastern road you went down the Sun Road which led to Gorum and eventually ended at the Grand Temple of Anceion. By the road Gorum was a bit over a day’s travel on horseback.

Spayar took the eastern fork and when every second felt like a bell with his sister’s corpse in front of him the road to Gorum would be a long one indeed.


	44. Treasure

Guards stopped Spayar when he arrived at the gate of Gorum. They wore intricate armor that was at the cutting edge of the what armorers could accomplish. Spayar barely saw them or the engineering marvel that was the gate of Gorum. One of them grabbed the reins of his horse. "What's your business here friend?" they asked. 

"I'm looking for the Hillsman family," he said just loud enough to be heard. "They came here from Assarus."

The guards looked between themselves. "They're probably in Rabbit's Court then with the rest of those from Assarus," the guard said.

"How do I get there?"

“Down this road till you get to Lucky Foot Street, take a right and follow that to the wall. That's Rabbit Court."

"Thank you," Spayar said softly without feeling. The guard gave him a wary look but let his horse go. He nudged his mare forward and she plodded forward.

They'd rode nonstop since they'd left Assarus. The only time they'd stopped was for his horse to rest for a few short hours and eat something while Spayar waited for her. It's taken them nearly two days to get here, his horse going at a walk. In that time Spayar had barely done any thinking, any feeling at all. He was just cold, numb, and empty. 

Calli's body looked like she was asleep on his shoulder and Spayar almost believed the charade except she didn't breathe or move. She was an unmoving mass in front of him. He was surprised he hasn't gone crazy from two days with a corpse.

At least Ward had done something right. Calli was still as perfect as two days ago. She could have opened her eyes and started talking any second. But she wouldn't. She never would.

Spayar found Rabbit's Court. It was a slums. It'd once been a fair ground but after three weeks of smiths, artisans and everyone else fleeing to Gorum from across the Meltong Basin knowing the city would be neutral in the Conflict and thus safe it was now overcrowded to overflowing. Hastily erected structures had been built five stories tall and sort of leaned at odd angles, some of them right against each other creating a precarious shade. There were tents everywhere and some sort of order had been established to create roads that two men could walk abreast but little else. People cried out as Spayar road his horse down the tiny streets of the refugee camp but they did move for the warhorse. It was move or be trampled.

After wandering for several minutes Spayar realized he had no idea where he was going and going down streets at random would get him no where. He started asking after the Hillsman family. He was met mostly by confused looks and people who knew nothing. Then he found some third generation Dirinnans who were helping feed the fresh mass of people who’d arrived in Gorum. They knew the Hillsmans and gave Spayar directions. After a few wrong turns Spayar found the right house. It was a five story building that seemed to pitch dangerously over the narrow street. He knew he was at the right place because his brother was sitting outside the door with a friend, talking and busily looking at a deck of cards the unknown boy had.

Spayar didn’t approach for a moment, just looking at his brother. He’d lost some weight, either not enough money, or not enough food to feed him, but that was all that seemed to plague him. He still smiled when he talked to his friend, or when he took a card to look at it he took it seriously and spoke without any weight to his features. Duren was unchanged by the Conflict going on, by the storm boiling in their country. He was just a little boy, the son of a smith, who liked playing with his friends and his biggest worry would be learning to talk to girls and how to shape metal. Spayar’s heart ached. 

"Duren," Spayar said once he finally moved his horse forward and his brother looked up.

"Spayar!" he cried and jumped to his feet, running over to his horse. “Calli! You’re here!"

"Go get mom and dad," Spayar said, not sharing his brother's joy.

"What's wrong-

"Go get mom and dad!" Spayar snapped.

Duren gave Spayar a confused look but did go inside to get their parents.

Spayar dismounted and pulled Calli from his horse's saddle. She was a dead weight in his arms and for a moment he didn't feel strong enough to hold her. He refused to buckle. He'd failed her once, he wouldn't fail her again and drop her now. He’d rather die first.

The front door flung open and Relora ran out looked around a moment wildly for Spayar and then saw him, holding his sister in his arms. She understood instantly and he watched her face crumble, her heart breaking. He watched her face clench up and tears run down her face.

"Where is he?" Senior asked as he came out of the building in time to see his wife fall to her knees in sobbing hysteria. Then Senior looked over at Spayar and had the same expression Spayar did two days ago. Denial. He was frozen in the spot, his wife sobbing at his feet. Spayar just stood there as helpless and lost as he had been the past few days.

People looked out the windows of the building to see what the noise was about. Spayar could distantly hear them muttering in concern. No one stepped forward to comfort or help. They were on their own.

"I'm sorry," Spayar said. That broke his father's stupor and he stepped forward. Relora was still on the ground crying, bent over her knees, her hands outstretched to the sky crying out in dirnine to her gods. To Dehvonokoz, who’d chosen her. Spayar didn’t know what she was saying. It sounded like begging.

Senior lifted Calli's head from where it was bent back and smoothed his thumb across her stiff cheek with more gentleness than Spayar had ever seen out of any man, let alone his father. He looked over at Spayar, his black eyes sad, tears at the corners. "Bring her inside, I'll get your mother," he said. Spayar nodded stiffly and he followed his father to the building, knowing his horse would be fine there till he got back. She wouldn't let herself be led away by a stranger or wander off on her own. 

Senior picked Relora off the ground and helped her inside. Relora could barely walk and had to hold onto Senior for dear life to stay upright. Spayar followed up to the second floor and a small apartment. Senior motioned for Spayar to stay outside a moment before going inside with Relora. Spayar stayed where he was, looking straight ahead. He barely even blinked.

" _Dooim_ what's wrong with mama?" he heard Anora ask.

"Later little one," Senior said. "You and Duren go into the bedroom."

"But dad-"

"Duren," Senior said sternly. "You will know. Now go." 

“Awww, okay,” Anora complained and Spayar heard them move about and saw them go through a door that was in his line of sight. Senior stepped out of the way to allow Spayar to enter the apartment. Spayar stumbled in on numb legs. 

The apartment was two rooms, the main room, and a bedroom. Two cots were pushed up against the walls, for the children to sleep, meaning the door led to the only bedroom. It was a far-cry from their big house back home. There wasn’t even a kitchen or a bathroom. That was as far as he saw before he made it to one of the cots and laid Calli out on it.

Relora fell to her knees next to the cot and grabbed the body up into her arms. Spayar just stood next to her. He still didn't know what was an appropriate reaction was. If he should cry and scream like his mother or keep those emotions back like his father.

He was surprised when a big hand was laid on his shoulder and he turned and looked to see his father. He was even more surprised when Senior suddenly hugged him tightly, his great frame encompassing all of Spayar. Spayar took a moment to hug him back and when he did he felt his father shaking. Senior wasn’t holding back. He was crying.

Spayar’s throat closed up and for the first time he felt tears start to run down his face. He pressed his face into his father’s shoulder, grabbing tightly to his father’s back and just sobbed. Senior squeezed him tighter and rubbed his back. 

For the first time in a long time Spayar felt his age. He was only nineteen. Barely an adult. Legally yes, but he was still just a kid. A kid playing in a world where kids like him died all the time. A commoner of immigrant parents. Not even feylon. _Other_. He was no one. Nothing and unimportant and just caught in a mess he had no idea how to escape. No idea that he should even _want_ to escape. Senior and Relora had run from Dirin to escape their own civil war, hoping to give their children a better future. He knew they’d been in it. He could tell when Senior talked about the Conflict, or the way the civil war in Dirin was ever brought up. He’d fought in it, had either seen or done unspeakable things in the name of revolution. They’d come to the Alliance to escape that, to escape the Monarchy, the castes, the death, the violence. They’d just wanted their children to have what they’d never had locked in the Dirin castes under the iron rule of the Monarchy; choices.

And Spayar had chosen exactly what they’d tried to leave behind. Royalty, and war. He’d chosen all manner of violence and cruelty. He always knew Senior and Relora never wanted that for him. They just wanted him to be happy, to do what they couldn’t. His choices had gotten him nowhere. It got him a dead sister, a family who again lived in poverty, and four royal enemies who all would see him dead if Von didn’t somehow manage to win. How could they win? They were already behind. He had no idea where Von even _was_. He’d been stuck for three weeks trying to save his sister. He’d failed her and he could see his inability to even save himself looming over his head like a noose.

“ _Doo’suvf_ ,” he whispered, “ _adi’ocovke nane.”_

His father didn’t reply right away. “ _A’ton,_ ” he said, “ _adi’ocovdekem_.” Then Spayar found himself being blessed. Senior kissed his cheeks and the middle of his forehead. Not once, or twice, but three times. “You didn’t fail,” Senior promised him and hugged him again. Spayar sniffed and scrubbed at his face with his hand and just leaned against his father.

At some point his mother’s sobs stopped. Senior looked down at Relora, she was still holding Calli to her, speaking to her softly in dirnine. His mother still wasn’t very good at speaking feylian, but she always used it, even at home. It was important to her that their children didn’t have an accent, that they sounded feylon. She only spoke dirnine sometimes, or when she was very angry. Or, it seemed, when she was very sad.

“Relora,” Senior said. She looked up at the two of them. She had Calli cradled against her chest. Spayar missed the rest. It was in dirnine and he was so out of practice still. Not like Calli. She could have followed their entire exchange. A sentence he could do, or if you spoke very slowly, but more than that and it started to become all jumbled and turned into meaningless sounds.

Relora then seemed to see Spayar for the first time since he’d arrived. She looked down at Calli then laid her dead daughter gently on the cot before standing. Her legs were a bit shaky but she stood. She wrapped Spayar in a firm hug and then stood back to lick her thumb and draw it across Spayar’s forehead.

“ _Mazuk_ ,” she said and Spayar blinked to try and keep back fresh tears. She used to call him _mazuk_ when he was a little boy. It meant ‘treasure’ in dirnine. He could remember when he was little, before he’d ever met Von, that Relora would call him _mazuk_ all the time. He was her special child. Her first born, and the only one of them native to Dirin. He’d been born just before they’d escaped to the Alliance and traveled as far inland as they could on what coin they had. As far from the Sea and Dirin as they could get without killing themselves and their little treasure they’d seemingly smuggled out of Dirin. She hadn’t called him _mazuk_ in years. Not since he started acting more like his native feylon friends and less like his immigrant first and second generation Dirinnan friends.

She held him and stroked his head. He wrapped his arms around her tightly as she spoke softly in dirnine. What she said he wasn’t paying enough attention to understand but he caught a few of the words. Tears leaked out of his eyes and spilled down his cheeks but he didn’t sob again. He sniffed several times and she wiped at his face and to his complete shock, was smiling. Not a joyful smile, but she was smiling.

“Mama-

“Shhh,” she cooed and stroked his hair. “Everything will be all right, _mazuk_ ,” she said gently. “You are alive, that is a victory,” and she kissed him on the cheeks and between the eyes three times in a row like his father had. 

“I didn’t bring her back like I said I would,” he said thickly and swallowed to try and clear his throat which was choked with emotion.

Relora closed her eyes, her face etched with pain. Senior put his hands on either of their shoulders. “But you returned with yourself. We were afraid you both would die.”

“But-

“You are home,” Senior said over him. “And you brought your sister home. That was more than we’d expected at this point,” he said gravely.

Spayar blinked, “You expected us both to die,” he said.

“War is not gentle, son,” Senior said. “Not to girls like your sister, or boys like you. We prayed you’d both return to us, but we prepared for the worst, that you both would never make it home.” 

“That you returned is a blessing,” Relora said and stroked Spayar’s hair. “Do not think otherwise,” she kissed him on the forehead again. She swallowed thickly and then looked at Senior with sad, wet eyes. “We need to tell Duren and Anora.”

Senior just looked grave and nodded. He took a deep breath before going to the bedroom door. Relora pulled Spayar to the other cot and sat him down. She sat next to him and he leaned over to rest his head on her shoulder. She grasped his hand and squeezed it firmly. Spayar looked at where his father was standing at the bedroom door and could see Anora and Duren standing before him.

“What’s going on?” Anora asked.

“Yeah why was mama crying so much?” Duren asked.

“It is about your big brother and sister,” Senior said.

“Are they home?” Anora asked.

“I told you they were!” Duren cried.

“Your brother is home,” Senior said, his voice soft and grave. “He brought your sister back to us,” and from the back Spayar could see his father cross himself, first the Dirinnan way, then the feylon way.

“But she’s not home?” Anora asked.

Senior said nothing and Spayar could imagine his father mastering himself enough to speak. When he did his voice still cracked and he sounded about to cry anyway. “Your sister is dead.”

Spayar looked away then and turned his face into his mother’s shoulder. Fresh tears came and he soaked her sleeve. She stroked his hand but he didn’t have to look to see she was either crying again as well or about to.

“What?” Duren asked, the only voice in the quiet room. “What do you mean she’s dead? She can’t-“ he cut off and Spayar peered around his mother’s sleeve to see Senior showing them Calli, laid out on the cot.

Anora’s legs gave out and the next moment the air was filled with her grief filled wails. Duren was stupefied and just stood there, staring. Relora left Spayar to go collect her other daughter. To comfort and shush her and let her cry in her arms. Senior put his hand on Duren’s shoulder, the boy looked up at him. “How?” he asked.

Senior looked over at Spayar. Duren did as well. They expected an answer from him.

The cold part of Spayar blamed himself for her death. He should have been prepared. He should have never even allowed this to happen to her. How did he tell his parents that he’d killed their eldest daughter? How did he say his well laid plans failed him? How did he tell the parents who didn’t blame him, who thought he’d done the best thing possible and bring one of them back alive and the other back to bury, that he was the reason Calli was dead? How could he tell them his negligence had killed her? That his _ego_ had killed her. He’d been so sure he had it all figured it out, that nothing could outmaneuver him. In an instant Tallalsala had shown him he wasn’t prepared, that he was just grasping at straws, that he wasn’t _ready_ for what this Conflict would bring.

The answer was no answer. He couldn’t tell them that. He could tell them what they wanted to hear though.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Tallalsala put a death curse on her. When a weaver came to remove it it triggered anyway, killing her.”

Relora said something hatefully in dirnine. Senior looked down at her, but said nothing. “The princess killed Calli?” Duren asked.

“Yes,” Spayar lied, it felt heavy on his tongue. 

“I hate the princess then!” Duren cried. “She’s a mean, evil lady and I hate her.”

Spayar felt his lips twitch and wondered if Duren would say the same thing if he knew Spayar had been the reason Calli was dead. “Yes, she is,” he said softly. 

“ _Dooim,_ what are we going to do with Calli now? Is she going to stay here?” he asked, looking up at Senior.

“No. We need to go tell a necromancer we need her to a perform a service for your sister so she can go to the Shadow Lands.”

“Not now though,” Relora said softly from the floor. “Right?” she clarified.

Senior looked down at his wife with a slight frown. Practically it wasn’t good to have a dead body in your home with your children. Emotionally could he deny his wife wanting to mourn over her daughter’s body? “I will go fetch one before it gets dark,” he left it at that and that was good enough for Relora. She nodded and went back to comforting a crying Anora who was sniffling into her chest.

“Duren,” Spayar said, his brother looked at him, strangely alert and wide eyed. “You can cry. Me and dad already did, and you can too.”

His brother blinked, “I’m not gonna-“ then he hiccuped and tears spilled out over his cheeks. Senior hugged him tightly, patting his back and holding him close.

Spayar nodded to himself. That was how it should have been. He didn’t deserve the comfort his parents gave anyway. Not after he failed them so amazingly. Not after he’d gotten their second child killed.

Once Anora could be left alone Relora got up and went into the bedroom. His little sister came and sat next to him on the cot and he wrapped an arm around her. She sniffed and wiped her nose and was doing her best to not sob, but tears still trickled from her eyes. Senior had gone with Duren out and downstairs to the common baths to wash up a bit since Duren had become a giant snotty, salty, mess.

“She was my best friend,” Anora said softly. “Why did Tallalsala have to kill her?”

“Because royals kill people,” Spayar said. 

She looked up at him with wet eyes, “Vonny doesn’t kill people though,” she sniffed.

No, Spayar thought, but he certainly threatens it often enough. He remembered his own threats to Jengin in Galinsum. That Von would send the Embirrir to raze Galinsum to the ground and not even leave a alchemic weight when they were done if he didn’t submit correctly. He knew his prince had done his fair share of threatening and bullying to get his way. It was how it had to be. Few powers in the Alliance fully accepted generosity or benevolence from their rulers. They expected and thrived under bloody rulers and those who wouldn’t hesitate to crush their enemies. To be any less was to be weak, and if you were weak you deserved to be killed in the Conflict with the rest of the weak.

It was how they kept their population strong, fit, smart, and relatively free of birth defects. Painful though it was to admit but the Conflict and the constant war and the mandatory military service time was also in place to weed out the weak. No one was exempt. If you were handicapped, or mentally deficient and you were not useful in other ways you’d end up on the front lines. You’d end up dead. Your blood line would end, the strong would live. Cruelty through necessity to ensure that only the strong survived. That was the story of the Alliance, the story of the Le’Acard that was deep in their blood. Only the strongest, the cruelest, the cleverest, the most bloodthirsty, lived to see their legacy continued. Those who were weak and useless to the Alliance were culled through blood and death. Von was the culmination of two thousand years of breeding to create the smartest, cruelest, dangerous, leader. A powerful wizard and mage of incomparable ability, handsome, charming, and a warrior to his core. Like his siblings Von had been bred and preened to be a warrior, a killer. One day he’d have to go about his birthright. One day he’d start killing.

He couldn’t tell Anora that. She thought of Von as a second big brother. One who always brought her presents or showed her his magic and made her laugh with stories from the court. To her he was gentle and kind and would never hurt anyone, would never think of hurting anyone. 

“No, he wouldn’t,” he said and rubbed her arm as their mother came from the bedroom. 

Her face was painted in the style of her goddess. The _Dehhavonevotas_ well pronounced on her face with white triangular marks on her cheeks and thin white lines connected the three ceremonial scars on her forehead. She came over to Anora and Spayar with a thin brush covered in a thick white paint. Spayar lifted his face to her for whatever she was about to do to the two of them. Relora drew two inverted triangles on his cheeks and a vertical line down the middle of his lips. On Anora she did three triangles. Two inverted on her cheeks and a regular one in the middle of her forehead. The triangle on her forehead got a vertical line through the middle.

Senior and Duren returned. “Relora,” Senior said. She just raised her hand for silence. He said something to her in dirnine and right there in front of the three of them they had an argument in dirnine. Spayar could never recall their parents ever fighting, let alone in front of their children. The winning comment from Relora, which Spayar only barely caught, sounded like ‘she is _mine!_ ’ At that Senior just huffed and allowed his wife to paint him with the _Dehhavonevotas_. He and Duren got the same marks as Spayar did.

Spayar got to his feet and went over to the other cot when Relora knelt next to it. She used the brush to paint a large triangle in the middle of Calli’s high forehead which she then separated into four more triangles. In the middle one she drew a circle, and then a line through the circle with a white dot as the center. Spayar didn’t know what it meant, but he assumed it had something to do with the _Dehhavonevotas_ , and the worship of the Dirinnans. Relora made a hand sign over the body and clasped both hands.

Spayar looked over at his father and saw Senior had done the same. He mimicked his father and quickly his siblings followed suit. Relora spoke in dirnine but it was lost on her children. Anora and Duren knew no dirnine and Spayar could hold a slow conversation if needed. Senior didn’t seem happy with whatever Relora was saying though and his dark eyes turned into chips of obsidian. 

Relora finished and pressed her head to Calli’s stomach, her hand on Calli’s forehead and stroked her hair, still speaking softly in dirnine. Senior only stood there for a moment before using his sleeve to wipe the marks off his face and leaving the apartment.

“Where’d _dooim_ go?” Duren asked, looking at the door where their father had left from.

“Probably to go find a necromancer,” Relora said softly, still petting Calli’s head.

“Why’d he seem so mad?”

Relora looked at her children solemnly. “You father wishes to erase everything we were before we came here. He is upset things from Dirin are not easy to leave behind.”

“Like what you just did _addim_?” Anora asked.

“Yes,” Relora said but Spayar saw she was lying. At least partially. He didn’t push the subject. His parents never spoke of their lives in Dirin except that they were glad to be gone from there.

“The paint itches, can I go wash it off?” Duren asked.

“Yes, sweetie, you can,” she said gently and stood. “You too Anora,” and she took both their hands. She looked over her shoulder at Spayar, to see if he would join them. He didn’t move from his spot and they left without him.

Spayar stood there in silence for several seconds. “I’m sorry,” he said. The words felt odd on his tongue. He rarely ever said sorry to begin with and now he was telling them to his sister. His dead sister. “I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry. I tried. You have to know that don’t you?”

Then he took a breath and felt foolish. Calli was dead. Her soul was waiting to move on but she cared not for the living. Any apologies Spayar had were useless now. He went and sat on the vacant cot and leaned against the wall feeling wretched. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Calli laid out on the cot and ended up falling asleep before his mother and siblings even returned from downstairs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not made of stone. I like comments :Y


	45. The Trouble with Goodbyes

The Temple of Lemp in Gorum was small and there were only a pair of priestesses to watch over it along with a few necromongers. It was located in an unremarkable building with only a sign shaped like a crescent to mark it as anything other than just another building on the street. The inside was clean and painted white, the floor an unreflective white stone. The priestesses within were, if nothing else, sympathetic and gentle of their care of Calli when they took her from Senior the night before. 

She’d been here all night to be prepared for her final rite. The priestesses knew many funeral rituals and had finished the funeral paint Relora had started the previous night.

The rite was simple, Spayar had seen it once before. He’d attended the funeral of a friend who’d had himself killed in Gorum. Eli had been in a huge debt to the alchemic school, was an orphan, and had nothing to answer to but himself. That was on top of his depression that left him suicidal half the time. Since suicide was against their religion he’d never done it. He was too devout. But Lemp was not a cruel or unjust god. He wanted his children to be happy, as much as Anceion. His priestesses served many purposes. One being the assisted suicide of persons who no longer wanted to live for whatever reason so long as their death would be no great burden on others. Eli had been one of those persons.

Calli was laid out on the necromancers’ altar and candles were lit. She was barely clothed, just enough to maintain her modesty so they could see she’d been cleaned and the Dirinnan paint had been applied all over her body. It was white paint in slashes and zigzags and rings around her limbs spiraling out from triangles. Red makeup had been added to her face like the kind she’d worn on her naming day. The face of her goddess over her own face.

 The necromongers sat around the altar. They played a strange metal lap drum with their hands. The notes were deep and sorrowful yet somehow sweet. First one started, a slow rhythm that built slowly with the addition of the others. It sounded like rain on a metal roof, somehow calming and so very gentle.

The priestesses stood over the body and one of them started to sing in Nedalian. Spayar had no idea what she was singing all he knew was that it was a death call. It summoned a necrell, handmaidens of Lemp, the collectors of souls, and brought them back to the Shadow Lands. The other priestess began singing a few minutes later. This voice was to keep away the jogull, the flesh eating, stag-headed, men who accompanied the necrell wherever they went as their protectors. If a jogull came and was allowed to manifest it could begin to feast upon the body of deceased. In extreme cases if it arrived before the necrell it could even devour the person’s soul.

The song went on and on, two different melodies that Spayar couldn’t follow, all to the beat of the metal drums. Spayar knew it was coming but looked over at his siblings briefly when Anora gasped. It was because of what was happening on the altar. Calli’s body was glowing. Her skin gave off a dim white light then changed in hue to yellow and then faded and once more she gave off no light. The necrell had collected her soul.

The singing stopped slowly and then there was silence. At least as much silence as could be had with Relora crying quietly while Senior held her. Anora and Duren both had tear streaked faces as well. Spayar didn’t look at his father. He was doing his best not to cry. Not because he didn’t grieve, but because he knew his tears would do nothing. Now there was nothing left of Calli in that body. She wasn’t there anymore. It was just an empty vessel and it didn’t care about his tears.

Senior gave Relora over to Spayar to hold and went to speak with the priestesses as the necromongers gathered up their drums and left them in the room alone. Spayar knew after this Calli would be cremated. Bodies weren’t buried in the Alliance like in some other countries. It was seen as a waste. What was the point of preserving the body if the soul, what made the person themselves, was gone? Not to mention jogull could still come for a buried body and devour it. He knew in Dirin bodies were buried but they were in the Alliance. Calli’s funeral would go the feylon way. The priestesses spoke quietly with his father, nodding several times and then bowed to him.

Senior called Relora over to the altar and she went. She kissed Calli one last time on the cheeks and between the eyes and stroked her face before leaving the altar. Senior stroked his dead daughter’s hair and looked down at her for several seconds before following Relora. They would come collect Calli’s ashes later that day after she’d been burned.

When they left the temple none of them said anything. Spayar looked around. The street wasn’t bustling, but people moved about. The sky had a few cheerful clouds and on the horizon loomed great storm clouds but there was no rain yet. He knew the world wasn’t going to stop for Calli’s death, or her funeral. He still wished it would have, if only for a second. He closed his eyes then looked at his family. They were all wearing white, the color of mourning, even he was. His mother had tied a red headband across her forehead to blind her third eye. He looked away from them and started to walk away.

“Junior,” his father called. “Where are you going?”

He stopped a moment and looked back at them, “I don’t know. I’ll come home after I figure it out,” and then he continued on. None of them followed after him. His parents knew he hurt in ways his siblings didn’t, and never would. They’d loved Calli too, but he’d been there when she’d died. He’d held her when she’d died. He’d lied to her and told her she’d be fine and then she’d faded right in front of him. His siblings would grieve Calli for a while, but there was a difference between losing your sister and being there to watch her die in your hands. He still didn’t even know how process his grief.

He walked for a while, not knowing where he was going. His feet knew a way. What way that was he had no idea, but it had a way.

He ended up standing in front of a smoke house. At the moment that sounded like something he needed. He walked in, opened a tab, and requested as much privacy as the little place could give him. That ended up being a booth with a curtain drawn across the entrance.

A dealer came to take his order. “What’s your fancy young man?” he asked.

“I don’t care,” Spayar said.

They frowned. “Something happen, friend?”

He didn’t know why he said what he said next, but he did, “My baby sister died and it was my fault.”

The dealer was taken aback. “Well, you’re certainly in need of something to help with that then?”

“Yes,” Spayar said.

“I’ll bring you something just for that,” he promised and left Spayar alone, drawing the curtain closed after him. Spayar waited and the dealer returned with a little glass phial, and a glass of some sort of juice. “Try this, mix it with the strawberry and lemon and you’ll forget what you’ve done,” they said.

Spayar took the phial. “What is it?”

“Engram,” the dealer said. “Popular up in the Yellow Hills when the days are unbearably hot and you want to forget the heat.”

“Thank you,” Spayar said.

“Just call if you want more,” the dealer said.

Spayar waited till the dealer was gone before pouring the powder into the cup and swirling it around. He sipped it and couldn’t taste anything but the juice. He gulped the rest and sat back, waiting for it to take effect.

He knew when it did because he felt at ease. No more guilt, no more anxiety. He sank into the couch and felt better than he had in _years_. For the first time in a long time he felt no weight of responsibilities. He was free of consequence and he could think without his usual thoughts to plague him. Or he could just _not_ think too. Even on other drugs he could think, he could scheme, he could keep his wits about him. Engram was different. Spayar had all his facilities, but he couldn’t remember anything. He couldn’t remember anything ‘important’, he couldn’t even remember what he’d forgotten. It was like the drug had told whatever part of his brain that kept track of his memories to go on break, because he couldn’t remember anything. At least nothing that stressed him out.

He called the dealer back and ordered some ripple. A hallucinogen and also used as a sleep aid for those with insomnia. Mixed with the engram he’d never felt so relaxed. He dozed a bit in the comfortable sofa of his private booth without stressful dreams to wake him or nightmares of himself, his prince, or his family all being murdered. It was the first time in a long time that that had happened, that his dreams were so peaceful and empty.

It wore off a few hours later and Spayar paid his tab and returned to Rabbit Court. He found his parents’ apartment and went in. Duren was out, but Anora was inside, reading one of her books. Relora and Spayar were in their bedroom. He could hear them arguing again.

“Spayar, you’re back!” Anora said when he came in.

“Yeah,” he said, still feeling a bit uneasy in his own skin after the engram and ripple. It was sometimes a bit disorientating to come down from two drugs, especially one you’d never had before. “You guys get Calli yet?”

“Yes,” Anora said gravely and looked next to him. He looked and saw an urn sitting on a little table. It was a pretty white urn with yellow and pink flowers painted on it. Spayar walked over to it and put his hand on it, feeling sick and tears came to his eyes again. A few spilled over before he wiped them away.

“What are mom and dad fighting about?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Anora said. “I think its about what _addim_ did before we took her to the temple.”

“Ah,” Spayar said.

“Spayar,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to kill Tallalsala back?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because _addim_ said you would.”

“She’s right,” Spayar said. “I am going to kill her back. And she’s going to regret the day I ever met her.”


	46. A Dying Spark

It was a crisp winter day. There was no snow yet but it was early in the season yet. Spayar was sitting on the stoop of the Rabbit Court apartments his family was staying in. He had a spliff of storm weed in his mouth, mixed with just a bit of Slate. Probably not the best thing to smoke together, but it gave him a high he liked. Storm weed was a downer, and Slate was an upper. Storm weed relaxed you while Slate made you aggressive. Not a great mix but it let Spayar maintain a level of furious impotence without feeling the need to actually go out and do anything.

The smoke in his mouth tasted heady and he held it in as long as he could, drawing it deep into his lungs. Duren was playing with his friends out on the street and when his brother turned and looked Spayar let it trickle out of his mouth and nose slowly. Duren laughed at him. “You look like a wyrm, brother,” he called.

“Scarier,” Spayar said once the smoke was all gone. Senior came and sat next to him on the stair. He took the spliff right out of Spayar’s mouth and ground the tip against the step. “Dad-

“I don’t care you smoke,” Senior said. “But don’t do it around me,” he handed Spayar his spliff back. Spayar sighed and tucked it behind his stubby ears. Senior held up a bottle, offering it to Spayar. “Want some?”

“What is it?”

“A vice.”

Spayar eyed it, “I don’t drink alcohol,” he said.

“Drink with me anyway,” Senior said. “Its cranberry wine.”

Spayar hesitated, “I’m a mage, dad,” he said.

“So am I,” he reminded Spayar. “Other mages all over the world. The Alliance is the weird one where mages don’t drink.” Spayar took it and drank deeply. Or he tried to. He ended up spitting half of it out as it burned his mouth and tongue. Senior thundered in laughter.

“That is _vile_ ,” Spayar grimaced, tongue hanging out of his mouth. His mouth felt numb.

“So is that poison you inhale,” Senior said.

“Different poison,” Spayar said and took the spliff from behind his ear just to fiddle with it. “Is something wrong?”

Senior took a deep draw of the cranberry wine. Spayar didn’t understand how he could do that. “We never spend time together anymore, son,” he said, looking at Duren and his friends play.

“Been busy,” Spayar mumbled.

“Yes. Plotting to kill people. I know,” he said with the air of gravity that only someone who’d killed people had. Spayar glanced at his father, a thousand questions on his tongue. He didn’t ask any of them. His parents didn’t answer questions of their time in Dirin, their part in the civil war. They sat there in silence for a bit of time before Senior said, “When your mother and I came to this country we were _so happy_. We were going to have a new life for you. No war. No Monarchy. No more violence.” Guilt ripped up Spayar’s insides. Senior took another drink. “Should have known we were drinking from a mirage. No son of ours could actually be anything less than us.” Spayar looked at his father in confusion. “You weren’t the only one. Your little sister has started getting into fist fights at school. You know that?” he asked Spayar, looking at him with a cocked head.

“No,” Spayar said. “She beat them up?”

Senior’s smile was both disappointed and proud, “Every time. She’s almost been expelled. Only because you’re her brother is she allowed to stay. Your mother likes to threaten the Headmaster with telling the Prince they’d expel his _d’aelar’s_ little sister.”

“That sounds like her,” Spayar said fondly. He could imagine Relora marching right up to Anora’s Headmaster and giving her a piece of her mind in her heavily accent feylian. “She wants to be an alchemist too. Probably to blow stuff up,” Spayar said.

“She wants many things,” Senior looked up, paused, took another drink of wine. “Wishing only gets you so far- Don’t tell your mother I said that,” he added. “But you, my son,” he reached out and in a gesture Spayar hadn’t seen in _years_ Senior wrapped his arm around Spayar’s shoulder and pulled him close. It was like when he’d been a boy and his father would pull him close and tell him secrets, tell him how to listen, remind him not to trust the prince, the Asuras. “Son of my heart, you are,” he squeezed Spayar’s shoulders.

“Dad,” Spayar said slowly, “everything all right?”

“Your sister,” he said, “her- her death put much into perspective for me.”

“Like?”

“Like you _mazuk_ ,” he said. “And that your brother will never be like you. I should be grateful. I think I should wish otherwise.”

“Why? Isn’t it good?”

“Duren is like Calli. He’s so sweet and kind to everyone,” Senior’s eyes tracked his youngest child as he ran down the street, running away from another boy who held a ball. “Sweet and kind don’t do well in this place.”

“No,” Spayar agreed.

“Our first son turned into a hyena,” Spayar had only a basic idea of what one of those were. He’d seen artists drawings of them. They lived in Dirin and Riten and beyond but they looked weird, like hunchbacked cats. All spotted with weird mouse shaped heads and ears like a deer. He didn’t trust the pictures. He knew they were vicious predators though. “And not even grown his maw is bloody,” he said it with the authority of an old saying or proverb. “Perfect for growing up in the Alliance, but Calli and Duren— should have known.”

“Should have known what?”

“They were both born during the fall,” Senior said. “Under rain. Most people back home are born during the rainy season. Its lucky, but its also said its why we Dirinnan are so _weak_ ,” his black eyes were hard pieces of jet. “Maybe its true, the rain makes Dirinnans weak. You and Anora were born in the summer and spring, of course you’re fierce.”

“Calli’s goddess was Nuvokon,” Spayar said. “Mama said she doesn’t favor the weak.”

Senior smiled a little, “No. No she does not,” Senior agreed.

“Dad… can I ask you something?” Spayar asked after a silence had passed between them.

“Yes?”

“Who did you kill?”

Senior’s eyes went far away. He squeezed Spayar’s shoulder hard, his hands, strong from his smith work, squeezed so tightly it sort of hurt. Spayar did not complain. Senior’s grip loosened after a few seconds. “I’d rather not think of it,” his voice was soft and somewhat worn like he’d just fought a hundred battles.

“More than one?”

Senior pulled Spayar close so he could speak softly, like he was telling Spayar a secret. “It was a war, son. We killed… so many.” He wasn’t proud of that fact. Spayar looked in his father’s black eyes and he knew that while those kills pained Senior that he didn’t carry those deaths with him. He hadn’t liked doing it but he was guiltless. It was kill or be slaughtered by the Monarchy.

“You’d do it again,” Spayar said in a whisper.

“In an _instant_. To free myself, your mother, _you_ ,” he kissed Spayar on the forehead firmly. “As I know you will be forced to kill in the future.”

“Dad I- I don’t think I want to,” Spayar confessed. After Calli the thought of leaving his family, of _losing_ them was overwhelming. He knew he’d break. He didn’t want to feel what he’d felt with Calli again. His family would be safe if he never went to war, if he just stayed away. Von would probably die but that pain felt like it would be less than his family dying. Spayar would find another love. He would never find another family. “I don’t want to- to leave Gorum,” he turned into Senior’s shoulder. “I just want to stay with you.”

Senior kept his arm around him. They stayed like that for a time. “You’ve never had to leave, _mazuk_ ,” Senior said with surprising gentleness.

“ _Daizok shingri-si_ ,” Spayar muttered against his father’s shoulder. It was part of a Dirinnan prayer. The full part Spayar couldn’t remember the entire thing but he remembered it from his mother telling him it when he was a boy. Days before he’d go up to the Palace, when he’d been small, she’d kiss him goodbye and tell him that. It meant something like ‘my love follows’ and was part of a longer prayer Dirinnans spoke over their children. He’d heard his mother’s Dirinnan friends tell their children it too.

“Heh. I should be telling you that,” Senior said.

“You could, I wouldn’t mind.”

Senior chuckled softly, “ _Daizok shingri-si_ _spyrina-_ ” he continued the prayer. Spayar had no idea what it was but at the end Senior kissed him on the cheeks and between the eyes. “How was that?”

“Good,” Spayar mumbled.

Senior rubbed his arm. “You don’t go if you don’t want to. Me and your mother would never make you leave.”

“Then I won’t. I’ll just stay here.” Senior ‘hmmed’ and continued to rub Spayar’s arm. Duren came running back the street with his friends, screaming happily as they played. Spayar watched them. He was doing the right thing right? Staying with his family. Keeping away from the war? Gods he hoped he was doing the right thing.

—

Unlike back home, in Anokai dinner was the biggest meal of the day. In the Alliance it was breakfastand lunch then you usually had two small meals at night. One early, as the sun was setting, as dinner, which was light and often involved more smoking and relaxing than actual food. The other was fifths which happened at night and would be a few hours before bed and could contain the proteins and heavy foods. Dinner was more like a snack before fifths. In Anokai it was the opposite and breakfast was often a pastry and tea, maybe some sweet sticky rice, and lunch was something soupy and flavorful but not very filling. In dinner they’d stuff you full of all the food you’d missed out on the entire day.

After a month of Anokai dinners Diylan hadn’t gotten any more used to the amount of food the lai expected you to eat at dinner to not appear rude. At sunset all he wanted was some red lace and a light salad or fruit bowl. Not the stewed alpaca they served, or braised oxen that smelled wonderful but Diylan just picked at. Not the roasted vegetables he’d never had either. Long brightly colored gourds stuffed to overflowing with meat and rice. Or lightly salted rice cakes you ate between courses to cleanse the pallet and prepare you for the next meal. They needed to have cold creme for desert every night too. Apparently it was the Empress’ new favorite since a Canorian dignitary had brought a recipe to share with the Emperor a few years ago as an act of friendship. It was heavy and creamy and always tasted cold and delicious and Diylan couldn’t help but always have a second helping. It left him feeling fat and bloated afterwards but that was the apparently the point of dinner in Anokai.

Diylan had absolutely gained weight the past few weeks despite himself. He’d tried to keep working out but it was difficult without his flighter brothers around to play with him. Not to mention he was a terrible stress eater and after any particularly bad sessions with Gard he’d stuff his face at lunch and dinner. Those only on days were Gard had really almost died from sunsickness and not just the general screaming.

Unfortunately Gard hadn’t suffered the same as Diylan. Despite Diylan always making him eat Gard had lost a ton of weight. His muscles had turned soft and the tanned golden skin he’d developed from a summer in the northern Alliance probably in the Hook or along the Shard had turned sallow. He picked at his food and while Diylan didn’t see him eat a lot his plate was always politely empty like Gard had made friends with the Palace cats.

Tonight was no different and while Diylan wanted to be polite he really didn’t know if he could. He’d had a big lunch and snuck a rich chems only a few hours before. Chems was the meal between lunch and dinner, usually just a light snack around three in the afternoon, often fruit or something sweet when people began to get tired or crash and needed a nap. Today had been rough for Gard and Diylan had binge stress eaten. Now dinner looked unappetizing and he didn’t want to eat any of it.

Gard wasn’t even trying to be polite. He was sitting, looking at his plate. Now and then he’d reply to Emperor Ekko but otherwise didn’t interact. He looked like a ghost of his former self.

“Something wrong Diylan?” Henna laid a hand on his arm, startling him. As usual she sat next to him at the table to act as his translator should he need it. Like every night she was by far the most beautiful thing at the table. She wore blue and gold eye makeup today with red winged eyeliner, her lips painted a cherry red and the sides of her face and forehead in a repeating wave pattern of gold and red. Her immaculate robes had anthropomorphic alpaca on them, the bottom half alpaca with a torso of a man and they stood on two legs. On each sleeve one played an instrument. One a multi pipe flute and the other a hand drum. The panels of the back and front had more such alpaca men, playing instruments or dancing with mountains covered in mist in the background.

“Ah- no. No. I guess I’m just not very hungry,” he said, his eyes dropping to her mouth briefly before going back to her green eyes.

She frowned a bit, “I thought dragon riders were always hungry.”

“Most of the time,” he agreed. “I ate a lot today,” he added sheepishly. “Not much room left for dinner.” That made her laugh quietly. “Perhaps you’d like to help me?” he ventured.

“I will see what I can do,” she said and gave him what he could only call a flirty smile. “And the Prince, he is not hungry either?”

Diylan looked over at Gard again. He was talking with a princess who’d managed to get his attention. His food was completely untouched. “Yes. We had a busy day today and ate when we returned. I’m afraid it’s left us with little appetite,” he apologized.

“Ah,” was all Henna said. Then she made a subtle hand motion and the princess talking to Gard looked over at her. Diylan would have missed it if he wasn’t so keyed into hand signs. Back home, in the Wyrd, your second language wasn’t Do’din, it was flighter sign.

The only people who knew Do’din were the mountain folk who lived deep in the Spine and were practically not even feylon and still practiced ancient whistle magic over contemporary casting. They were an ancient peoples, indigenous to the region before Doll had claimed the Wyrd as his own two thousand years ago. They’d become the first Dodos and most had moved east, colonized the hills and mountains of Dodorum. Some tribes had stayed in the mountains, payed tithe every year to the Wyrm Lord in the form of food but otherwise didn’t interact with the rest of the Alliance. Those mountain peoples were the only ones who spoke the nearly extinct native language of Do’din.

Dodos all only spoke feylian and only the boys who lived in the Wyrd learned flighter sign. They were weird in that they were one of the only provinces who didn’t teach its children the old, native, language from before it was a province. A lot of the people he’d met while serving time had thought it weird he was monolingual. Probably because Dodorum hadn’t been a kingdom like the others. Doll had just carved out the land he’d wished to own on wingback and anyone who’d complained had quickly met the business side of a wyrm and their destructive acid fire. Few things, even whistle mages of old, could stand up to wyrms.

Diylan had no idea just _what_ the sign Henna had made meant, but the princess did. She turned back to Gard with a smile, all charm. He hoped Henna hadn’t told her to woe him. The last thing Gard would be interest in would be in a princess or a relationship. That was just if he didn’t feel like he was dying every day. Coupled with the agony of having your belsong destroyed daily it was a miracle he could even respond to the princess with a smile.

“How long will you remain?” Henna distracted Diylan from Gard.

“Hmm?”

“The Go-Sana asked me to ask you. How long will you remain in Anokai? You’ve been here a month and a half now.”

“Is hospitality wearing thin?” he asked her.

“No, not at all,” she assured him. “He just wants to know so he can be prepared accordingly.”

“Until we hear back from our people in the Alliance it’s unsure,” Diylan said. “Once we have a leg to stand on we’ll know when we will leave. Until then, I have no idea,” he shrugged and picked a bit at his food. It tasted sort of weird and he discreetly spit it into his napkin. Maybe he was just getting tired of Anokai spices. He missed the subtle flavors of Wyrd food and the sweet splash of citrus that washed over everything.

“You could stay here,” Henna prodded.

Diylan sighed, “I told you Henna. We will not. We will leave once we can. Vondugard doesn’t really want to bring a Conflict to Anokai but if we stay… forever, his sibling will eventually find him. They will bring war to Anokai. Anokai can’t fend off an attack from the Alliance. You’d be annexed.”

Henna frowned, “Do not diminish our strength Diylan. It is very cocky of you to think so little of us.”

Diylan shrugged, “Could your navy withstand ours?” he asked her.

“We could. Joti would send aid.”

“You mean you’d ally with the Jotulla pirate lords. Shady dealing.” Henna scowled at him. “Then even if you beat the Alliance we’d be your enemy for forcing slavery on our people. Nothing is worse than that.”

“It isn’t so horrible,” Henna said, leaning back, eyeing Diylan cooly. As she spoke a table slave came up fill the glass of a princess next to her. Diylan refused to see the slaves here in the Palace. Once they’d been in his rooms, cleaning up and he’d screamed at them. No slaves were allowed in his or Gard’s rooms now. The thought of a slave touching his things made Diylan ill. Not that the slave themself was dirty but that Diylan had unwillingly participated in the disgusting act of slavery. Now he just refused to even see them because to do otherwise would make him angry.

“You would say that. You’re a lady of standing,” Diylan said icily.

“I do not wish to argue with you,” she said. “It is this way in Anokai, as it is your way in the Alliance. Let the bones fall as they may.”

“And your bringing Jotulla pirate lords to bolster your navy would see Anokai turned into the next Balentine,” Diylan said calmly. “Vondugard, nor I, wish to see that happen. So we will leave before it comes to that, once we heard from our allies across the Sea.”

Henna pursed her lips, “That seems fairly reasonable I suppose. Shame. The Emperor was going to offer you one of his daughters.”

“I’m not really the family man sort of person,” Diylan said. “I prefer my women more… experienced than his little daughters,” he wrinkled his nose a little. Henna had a secret smile that said she knew exactly what he meant. “Or men, I’d prefer that over a young woman,” he added thoughtlessly. He didn’t bother to stop and consider if Anokai was welcoming to homosexuals. Though Diylan wasn’t homosexual, he just liked both, equally. Well maybe boys a bit more but he couldn’t help that. People were just built different.

“Perhaps by the end of it the Go-Sana won’t care where the child of a dragonrider comes from so long as it-

“Eini!” Diylan’s head snapped across the table to look where Gard was. The princess he’d been talking with had slumped forward on the table right into her plate. “Eini,” Gard said again, grabbing her shoulder even as the Empress lurched to her feet. Emperor Ekko was yelling something but Diylan couldn’t understand and the next thing he knew people were running into the dining hall.

The princess, who Diylan guessed was named Eini, was pulled off the table and onto her back. Healers cut away her robes and a set of guards stood around, holding their outer robes around them to hide the princess’ nakedness. He could hear Empress Hikiro’s desperate cries and something like sobbing, begging. The healers spoke in rapid hapese to each other and Diylan felt lost amid the entire thing as Henna had left him to go speak with the Go-Sana.

Diylan looked across the table at Gard who was staring at the guards and the robe screen around the princess and healers. The Go-Sana was still ordering people around and guards were running out of the dining hall. Diylan never looked away from Gard.

Slowly, Gard got to his feet and amid the yelling and crying no one noticed. Diylan followed suit and Gard walked stiff legged to a porch just outside the hall. Diylan lurched after him and caught the prince when he stood at the banister. The chaos in the dining hall receded.

“What happened?”

“She ate my food,” Gard said, staring across the water garden. After a moment he looked up at Diylan, “They know I’m here. I don’t know who, but one of them does.”

“Impossible,” Diylan said, “not even Spayar knew where we went.”

“I sent a letter to Helida telling her where I was,” Gard swallowed. “What if she’s not with me anymore?” his voice shook.

“I might hate that bitch but there’s one thing I _do_ know about Rosalia. They’re loyal. Stupidly loyal honestly. Having to fight with them in a pain not just because I hate them but because if they don’t get to fight with officers, especially men, they like, they practically won’t fight. If Helida sided with you, that’s it, she’s sided with you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Diylan hoped. His hope had to be good enough for Gard.

Gard looked back into the dinning hall. The guards had moved away from the princess and they could see her. She was laid out on the floor under a light blue shroud. Empress Hikiro was kneeling to the side, sobbing into her hands. “I killed that girl, Diylan,” he looked up at Diylan again. “Whatever was in that food was meant for me. She ate it instead.”

“You’re going to get a lot more girls killed by the end of this Conflict,” Diylan reminded him gently.

“Eini was their second daughter,” he said softly. “Second daughter second born. Eini means ‘lucky’ in hapese, did you know that?”

“Vondugard,” Diylan put his hand on Gard’s shoulder. “This wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

“Me being here is a danger to these people, Diylan. Don’t you see that? Even if Helida is still with me tons of people have seen me. I can’t hide my ears, or your eyes. Ami is dead, suddenly. My siblings might have sent spies. They might know,” he looked back at Eini’s dead body. “We can’t stay here anymore.”

“What? Then what do you propose?”

“I don’t know,” Gard said. “We need to go somewhere else. Somewhere my siblings won’t find me.”

“What about when the message from Helida comes back?”

“You can come back, or send a wyrmling, to check. But I can’t stay here. Its dangerous, for me, and for these people.”

Diylan frowned deeply, “If you say so,” he said.

Gard nodded. Diylan stood up a bit straighter when the Go-Sana came over to them and started speaking in hapese. Gard carried the conversation single handedly and the Go-Sana was not pleased with what he heard. The conversation lasted several minutes before Gard bowed a bit. “He says we can go. There’s nothing for us here,” he said.

“Here like, this area, or here like Lo-Gashuai?”

Gard gave a short, dry, laugh, “Like right here.”

“Oh good, for a second I thought we were being thrown out.”

“No, not yet at any rate,” Gard said. He sighed. “I guess now’s a good as time as any to get some sleep. I doubt tomorrow will be any better than today,” and he winced at thinking about it. Diylan had no helpful words for him, he was right. The belsong cutting would continue to be agony until it wasn’t, and who knew when that would be.

Diylan followed after Gard as they went back to their rooms. Gard said goodnight and Diylan went into his room.

He lit some of the oil lamps to see in the darkness and got ready for bed. As he was doing so he passed the window and stopped. On the window sill was another ibis. This one was already dead and lay splayed out on the sill. He went over to it and knocked it off into the moat. “Fuck you too,” he said passionlessly and looked up at the cloudless night and its blanket of stars.

“What do you want from me?” he asked the sky. “Ixcha, Perunaz, Weshlai, just… tell me. Don’t play with me like this.” He closed the shutters of his window, doused the lamps, and went to bed.

He woke in the middle of the night feeling uncomfortably warm. He kicked off the blankets but that didn’t help so he opened his eyes and blinked around. It was Lun, it shouldn’t have been this warm this time of year. He blinked around stupidly before realizing it wasn’t just hot but that he could hear the sound of crackling flames and beyond his door, at a great distance, he could hear people yelling.

Diylan flipped out of bed and threw his door open. Fire licked at Gard’s door and for a moment his heart was in his throat. Stupidly he tried the door and only succeeded in burning his hand. “Vondugard!” he yelled, there was no answer.

Guards ran up with buckets of water and splashed it onto the door. They went to the water garden just beyond and did it several more times but the flames didn’t back down. They also didn’t spread. He grabbed one of the guards and said in very slow feylian. “Fire mage.” The man just blinked incomprehensibly at Diylan. Diylan groaned, he’d get no where with this.

Instead he twisted his belsong and created a spider web across the door and ripped open a portal. A wyrmling bigger than a man flew through it and crashed into the door. The door gave immediately and splintered and fell into the room. The wyrmling writhed across the wood, rubbing its thick cheeked face across the charred wood like a cat on catnip. Guards threw water into the room but it did little to quench the flames and the water turned to steam almost instantly.

Diylan broke his connection to the belsong web on the door and it dissolved. He threw a glob into the room and the wyrmling chased it, heedless of the fire. Diylan forced himself into it and it squawked and protested before he could see through its eyes. He made it look around.

The entire room was ablaze. Fire licked up the walls and furniture and coated the floor and turned everything to ash. The bed was smolders and the wyrmling had landed on what could have been the remains of the bed which was now destroyed. In the corner of the room was a beacon of belsong that looked so _delicious_ to just gobble up. Diylan focused and saw it was Gard. He stood, braced against the walls, on the only unburned space in the entire room. Gard had made this fire, and was controlling it so it didn’t spread beyond these walls.

The wyrmling went up to Gard who stared at it. His eyes were wide, he was in shock. The wyrmling flicked its tongue at him and wrinkled its snout. This belsong smelled bitter. “Diylan?” he heard Gard say through the wyrmling’s ears.

“Vondugard!” Diylan yelled from the walkway. More people had come now, draw by the fire and the yelling of the guards. “Vondugard put out the fire. You’re scaring everyone.”

The fires didn’t move an inch and then to Diylan’s shock and horror they started to _grow_. In the moment Diylan had distracted Gard he’d lot control. He saw the teenager sink to the ground and put his arms over his head through the wyrmling’s eyes. Flames began to lick the ceiling of the corridor Diylan and the guards were standing in. There were more of them now and their cries rose in tone and pitch as they tried to bring water to the fire. Diylan felt rooted. He couldn’t even make his wyrmling do anything and for a moment it was idle and started to explore the room since Gard’s belsong was far too bitter to eat.

He’d never been the best in do or die situations. He always froze up. Drove his commanders crazy. It was like his flight or fight response was busted and instead he just stood in the way. Obstructing people who could and would actually do something _useful_.

Someone came running from down the hall yelling. The voice was familiar and knocked a bit of the stupid out of Diylan enough to turn and see who it was. It was Achai. The lai province lord. He was sprinting towards them still in his sleeping gown and cap. What was he doing here?

The answer was obvious when Achai stopped in front of the fire and being channeling it away from the wood. The fire had started to eat at the roof and walls now, turning the light cream colors a cracked ash. Achai took the fire away like a man pulling on a great rope. With each hand full of invisible rope more joined to that rope which Achai threw into the water garden. Diylan had never seen fire magic like this and stood there next to Achai completely transfixed.

The flames began to die and then finally the last one sputtered out. Without waiting Achai stormed into the prince’s room to assess the damage and came to face with Diylan’s wyrmling. It shrieked and then Diylan had a noose around its neck. It calmed instantly and slammed itself to the floor submissively. Diylan followed Achai into the room, banishing the wyrmling from which it came.

Gard was still in the corner. Everything in the room was ruined. The furniture, floor, walls, ceiling and windows. Nothing had been spared Gard’s fire. In the corner the prince had his face in his knees having what Diylan thought was either a panic attack or a mental breakdown. Maybe both. After what he’d been going through the last few weeks Diylan wouldn’t be surprised or really blame him.

“Vondugard,” Achai said and Gard lifted his head. His skin was streaked with ash but he looked unhurt. Diylan bounded forward and without any reservation wrapped his big arms around Gard. Achai was talking about him but Diylan wasn’t paying attention.

“They’re dead right?” Gard asked in a small tone.

“What? Who?” Diylan asked.

“The man who tried to kill me? Before I filled it with fire.”

Diylan looked around and saw the lump he’d encountered earlier through the wyrmling’s eyes. The wyrmling hadn’t been able to tell what it was but now separate from its reptilian mind Diylan could see it perfectly. It was a man, cooked to a black cinder.

Diylan looked back at Gard, “Yeah. He’s dead.”

Gard’s eyes were wide and terrified. “I can’t stay here,” he said as more yelling voices came from outside his room. Gard covered his face again. “I can’t do this. I can’t-

Diylan shook him roughly. “You can,” he snapped. “You have to. If you don’t you die, we both die, everyone you care about _dies_.” Gard just looked at Diylan and the kid looked about to cry. Just what Diylan _didn’t_ need. Perunaz help him. He wrapped an arm protectively around Gard as people crashed into the room. One was the Go-Sana with a sword and shield, barking orders. “What’s he saying?”

“He’s saying make sure I’m not hurt,” Gard said softly. “And find out who- who that man is I killed.”

Achai approached the both of them. “What happened?” he asked in his heavy accent.

“A man came in to kill his royal highness,” Diylan said, “Vondugard defended himself against the assassin.”

“And the fire? Sure’y roya’y is trained in magic better than this,” he looked down at Gard with his stone blue eyes.

“It was controlled until I distracted him, he’d contained it in this room,” Diylan was quick to say. “Now back off, it wasn’t his fault, he almost died twice tonight.”

“Twice?”

Diylan winced. “The poison that killed Eini,” Gard said weakly. “It was for me.”

“Hmph,” Achai looked away when the Go-Sana approached and began speaking. Achai answered him and the two men talked a moment.

Then the Go-Sana crouched in front of the two feylon. Gard said something apologetic like he was saying sorry for burning down his room the Go-Sana had provided. Ekko just seemed slightly amused by that when he spoke. Diylan hated not being able to follow the conversation they had, especially not with Gard practically in his lap. Kinda actually really awkward. Thankfully the conversation didn’t last long and then Ekko stood up and went to direct his men.

“Uh?” Diylan looked down at Gard questioningly.

Gard had pulled himself together a bit more now and didn’t look like he was on the verge of a melt down. He even managed to stand and Diylan hopped up next to him. “We’re leaving. Right now. Ekko is having things packed for us.”

“Leaving? Where are we going?”

“I’ll tell you later. Not now though,” Gard shook his head. “Just call Hathus or something.”

“Gard, its the middle of the night,” Diylan said.

“So?”

“Wyrms can’t really fly at night. They need the sun.”

Gard sighed. “She flew at night before.”

“Yeah and nearly crashed like four times. Only mailmen have wyrms with the stamina to fly during the night, because they train for it. Hathus won’t make it far like she did getting us across the Alliance. That was a do or die situation.”

Gard closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he asked Achai, who was still standing nearby, something. “Achai says its nearly dawn. We leave at first light, as soon as Hathus can fly.”

“Alright,” Diylan said slowly. He grabbed Gard by the shoulder, “Lets get you cleaned up, you’re covered in ash, and make sure you have clothes for flying.” Gard nodded and allowed Diylan to guide him back into his own room to bathe. Diylan stood outside his front door, forbidding anyone from entering.

The sun rose and Go-Sana Ekko had bags delivered to Diylan’s rooms. Large bags full of both clothes and food that could keep for days including pounds of rice and dried meat. Gard came out of Diylan’s room, dressed in clothes for flying and looked up at Diylan. “Its time to go,” he said.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” Diylan said.

“I will, once we’re in the air,” Gard said.

“Right.” Diylan reached out and touched Hathus with his mind, ‘ _I need you,_ ’ he said.

‘ _This one comes!_ ’

People cried out in wonder when the portal opened above the water garden and Hathus landed lightly on the shore. Diylan grabbed up the bags and threw them over his great shoulders and walked over to her, Gard following behind. He climbed up onto Hathus’ back and attached the bags to her saddle. Then he turned to help Gard up. Gard was talking in hushed tones to the Go-Sana, their heads bowed together, Gard nodding now and then. Gard bowed deeply to Ekko when they were done and looked up at Diylan who climbed down to help the prince up onto Hathus’ saddle. Diylan strapped Gard’s legs in and climbed up onto the saddle behind him, grabbing the reins.

“We all set?” Diylan asked Gard.

“Yes,” Gard said.

“Alright. Lets go,” he told Hathus and she jumped and twisted at the same time, spiraling into the air as she flared her brilliant colored wings open. In front of him Gard gripped Diylan’s arms tightly and Diylan knew he also had his eyes closed. Below people yelled in awe and amazement at the dragon, probably pointing. After nearly a month here Diylan didn’t even notice it. Then Hathus leveled out and Diylan had her fly slow so they could talk. “Where are we going?” Diylan asked.

“That way,” Gard pointed towards the Mos.

“What’s that way?”

“Hopefully someplace safe. Ekko said theres an old temple there we could go to. No one really goes there and its out of the way from the rest of Anokai.”

“Priests and stuff?”

“None. They call it a shrine in hapese, though its more like a temple, unattended but a place of worship all the same.”

“Alright,” Diylan said though felt a bit uneasy all the same. They were headed for unknown territory and Diylan hated that. In Lo-Gashuai they were relatively safe with guards and fortifications. A temple in the middle of the woods? All there would be would be the both of them and Diylan was only as good a fighter as his summoning. He urged Hathus to fly and she banked towards the mountains. Gard would guide them in.


	47. We're all Going to Die

Winter had taken a chokehold on LoHanJo’in. The snows happened daily and it didn’t melt. Instead it just rose higher and higher. In the morning paths were cleared to the fences that led to the roads from DisAdo by shovels and ice and flame magi. The roads were left untouched and instead when people absolutely had to leave they left by dog team pulled sleds or large sleighs pulled by their marshy ponies, trudging through the thick snow to where they had to go.

The snow otherwise had no impact on DisAdo. Classes for cadets continued uninterrupted and the thick beams that supported the steeply pitched roof of the compound, the surrounding buildings, and the walkways between them, kept snow from creating real danger to those who lived within. Fires roared day and night and the heat vents were left open to allow for hot air to circulate in the compound. Windows were kept tightly closed, the shutters drawn against them, pressed close by the snow that piled up outside. It should have made the entire place feel claustrophobic but with the tall ceilings and the painted walls and soft colored wood it was anything but. DisAdo was a warm ember against the cold, defiant in the snow that pushed against it. You could walk around DisAdo in a shirt and shorts if you wanted and if you wanted a more temperate condition all you had to do was close the heat vent in the floor of the rooms that were connected to the central heating of DiSol’s apartments.

Mali still woke up every morning freezing. No matter how many blankets she snuck into her room to pile atop her, or how she adjusted the vent. She woke up to cold toes and a runny nose.

The black rot hadn’t moved from her belsong but it had made itself more at home there. It had curled around her heart like a cat. She checked it every morning to make sure it hadn’t strengthened or moved. It never did.

Huddled under the blankets in the morning she could hear Tassa and DiSol moving around in the hallway between the common room and the front door. They both walked so gently. Mali supposed a thief and a shadow had every reason to walk softly. In the silence of her room, save for the whooshing air coming from her vent, they were each clear and distinct to her ear. It sounded like DiSol was pacing about something, Tassa was just wandering and moved past her door. DiSol continued to pace back and forth down the hall passing her door each time. The sound of his gentle footsteps eventually lulled her into a half sleeping state.

Half asleep between dreaming and awake she thought she could see her belsong. Not just it, the twisting rot that she’d let settle so close to her heart and soul. Half dreaming it rose up from her body like a snake and slithered across her body and coiled around her throat.

She woke with a jolt and wondered if she’d actually been asleep when someone knocked. Mali put her hand up to her throat. Nothing was there. She shook herself a bit. “Mali, are you up?” it was Tassa.

“Yes,” Mali croaked and then cleared her throat. “Yes,” she called louder.

Tassa opened the door. She was dressed in her mock lonth outfit. All black and dark grays of leather and satin that hugged her athletic figure, accentuating her breasts and waist. A voluminous scarf was about her neck loosely, a mock Shroud. “You’re not even dressed,” Tassa huffed.

“I was just getting up,” Mali scowled.

“Well hurry up. Its the nearly the tenth bell and I wanted to take you to the library before I went off,” Tassa said, arms folded.

“The _tenth_ bell?” Mali asked with widened eyes.

“Did I stutter? Tenth bell Mali. Get out of bed. You have studying to do and I have people to talk to-

“You mean flirt with.”

“Same thing,” Tassa rolled her eyes. “Me sleeping with people helps us remember?”

Mali gave her a look, “Tassa. In the past five weeks you’ve just been banging people without reason.”

Tassa scowled at her. “I have so. I’m just… working on something,” she said, folding her arms in a superior fashion.

“Uhg,” Mali rolled out of bed. She sniffed, rubbed her nose, and flexed her toes to warm them up. Till recently she’d been wearing her green healer’s robes but they’d proved to not be warm enough. With the end of Neyjarra and the start of Lun, and winter, the linen and cotton garments that were perfect for the central Alliance, left her cold and shivering. DiSol had new clothes provided to her. They were fleece and wool and silk to keep her weak body heat in at all costs. There weren’t a lot of colors in DisAdo, so Mali had had to settle for a dark grey-green.

“Not like you’re doing much better than me,” Tassa said. “Still can’t read onimori,” she scoffed.

“Almost,” Mali said, raising one finger at Tassa. “Just a few more days and it’ll click. I know it. I can string together words and phrases. I’ve almost got it to be self sufficient.”

“Hmm,” Tassa said. “You going to dress or just stand there with a runny nose?”

“You’re the one talking to me, preventing me from doing so.”

“Uhg. Fine, whatever,” Tassa turned around with a flip of her thick hair and left the room. “Breakfast’s waiting for you still,” and closed the door.

Mali shuffled over to her dresser and opened a drawer. She changed her small clothes and then pulled on the layers of fleece and soft wool. She wore thick socks and fleece lined shoes DiSol said were usually only used by old people with poor circulation in their extremities. Mali didn’t care if she looked like an old woman in her warm clothes, what mattered was she was warm and that she wouldn’t shiver while she researched.

She went out to the common room where Tassa was lounged on a couch lazily playing with her hair. “Where’s DiSol?” Mali asked as she got her breakfast. It was a warm, light, broth soup made with rich herbs and spices and had vegetables and meat in it as well as poached quail eggs. Thin glass noodles made up the bulk of the soup. You ate it with yogurt or creme usually. Mali liked hers with a lot of yogurt to make it super creamy and thick and rich.

“He had to go work, where do you think?” Tassa said.

“I heard him pacing,” Mali said, sitting at the little table.

“No you didn’t,” Tassa said.

“I’m sure I did. Only he walks like that.”

“Mali, DiSol left before I even woke. No one was here but me while I waited for you to wake.”

“… Are you sure?” Mali asked and her breakfast didn’t look very appetizing.

“Yes I’m sure, you take me for an idiot?” Tassa asked.

“But I heard his footsteps,” she said. “I did. I know both of your footsteps.”

“DiSol doesn’t have footsteps Mali,” Tassa gave her an odd look. “He’s a lonth, they don’t make noise unless they’re lazy, want to be heard, or are tired.”

“I swear, I heard DiSol’s footsteps. I heard them.”

“That’s impossible, DiSol wasn’t _here_ ,” Tassa said. “How would you even know?”

“Well they weren’t yours. They were too soft. It had to be a lonth.”

“Maybe you dreamed it,” Tassa said.

“Or maybe someone else was there?” Mali ventured.

“There was no one here,” Tassa said firmly. “How many times do I have to say it? I was the only one here waiting for you to wake up. And if there was someone else, let alone someone _pacing_ in front of your room, I would have seen them.”

Mali frowned and her breakfast tasted bitter. She wasn’t hungry. She went to put it on the tray with the rest. Tassa rolled off the sofa and met her there. “You’re finishing that,” Tassa said firmly.

“Excuse me?” Mali asked.

“You’re finishing your breakfast.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“Too bad. You’re finishing it,” Tassa was in no mood for an argument about this. “You’re losing weight. Meaning you’re not feeling well. You barely ate at all yesterday or the day before and if there’s one thing I know about you its that you never miss a meal. You’re eating your breakfast even if I have to force feed it to you.”

“I just-

“Not up for discussion. Eat your breakfast,” Tassa said. Mali thought about resisting, denying her for the satisfaction of it. Except Tassa was right. Mali was losing weight. Not enough to be a concern (yet) but she was losing it more rapidly that she had any right to. Mali had always been chubby, soft around the edges with big thighs and stomach, even as a little girl. She’d never really lost any weight in her life. For her to actively be losing weight while not doing anything meant something was wrong.

She was sick.

Mali didn’t say that but she guessed Tassa knew. Tassa also knew better than to comment. Mali was the healer, not her. If it was really serious Mali could and would fix herself.

“Fine,” she said and sat and ate. Tassa didn’t hover, but she did watch her eat and didn’t stop until Mali had emptied her bowl. “Happy?”

“Yes, actually, I am,” Tassa said. “Now lets go to the library?”

Mali nodded and picked herself up from the chair. They locked the door on the way out and as they headed out she swore she saw someone down the hall. When she turned and looked there was no one there. That didn’t mean anything. Lonths could quite literally hide in plain sight, become invisible as a piece of shadow on a wall. For how bright and cheery DisAdo was there were many shadows, especially amid the high ceilings and the rafters above.

She shook the feeling off and followed Tassa to the library. Mali retrieved her notes and material from her cubby. As she did she again felt someone. When she turned and looked over her shoulder again she saw no one. “I think I’m becoming paranoid,” she said.

“Why?” Tassa asked as they went to a table near a fire.

“You said DiSol wasn’t there this morning but I _did_ hear pacing. Now I feel like I’m being watched,” she said as she sat.

“Its just your overactive imagination,” Tassa said and ruffled Mali’s hair a bit. Mali batted her hand away with a snarl of a sound. Tassa just beamed at her. “So I have a date, you fine here by yourself?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” Mali said.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a few hours for lunch,” and with that Tassa was gone.

Mali got to work. She pulled out the books she’d been using, her notes, and guides. She’d graduated from simple books used to teach children to slightly more advanced ones. Ones with paragraphs and complex sentences. She’d progressed quicker than she assumed normal people would since she wasn’t worried about learning to write or speak jhasta, she just had to read it.

The hundreds of characters were the main hold up. She’d learned the structure of onimori fairly easily as it was a similar structure to feylian in where the verbs and nouns went. Everything else was wildly different. Jhasta was written left to right, each character coming after along in long lines of words broken up by spaces and punctuation. That had been a hang up for her for a while since feylian was written on a staff vertically, each word a series of strokes that were each sound in the word. It meant that words could get very tall, which was fine since feylian was written vertically anyway, top to bottom left to right. The stream of jhasta had made her eyes swim at first. Now she was just trying to learn all the characters or at the very least very common and popular ones so she could read.

She sat at the desk reading and learning for several bells. She could feel she was on the edge of a breakthrough and once she could read onimori she’d be able to read Haver’in’s ledger and find what she needed. Or she hoped she could. She’d feel like a fool if the answer wasn’t in that ledger.

After so long she had to stretch her legs. She got up, marking where she’d left off and pushed herself from the chair. Her knees shook a little and she had to hold onto the table to stay upright. She hated herself for the weakness. But she had to know what this was, this rot on her belsong that was sapping her strength. She hadn’t told anyone this, yet, but she didn’t know how to get rid of it. She’d tried, but it wouldn’t come off. It was like tar and refused to budge. The only thing she could do was try to cut it out, but the idea terrified her. If she cut wrong she’d slice her belsong and could end up killing herself. She knew summoners ripped and cut their belsong’s constantly, but they weren’t magically inclined, weren’t trained or had years of study to shape their belsongs into something functional. To cut a belsong of someone like Mali could easily send them into shock and leave them weak and broken forever. You had to be delicate when doing anything like that.

Once she felt she could walk on her own she did a lap around the library. The shutters were closed against the snow outside. She ran her fingers along some of the spines of the books. She recognized some volumes from the academy library back home. She also saw some you couldn’t find at the academy library but could find at the Garden library. Ones about torture and poison and perfectly drawn anatomical books made by necromongers. There was an entire section of the library dedicated to holy texts and she saw at least six variations of the Red Book and ten of the Sunspeaker’s Monologue.

She finished off her pass of the library in the area filled with scrolls, copies of originals that showed fighting techniques for the lonths from LoHanJo’in and from across the Alliance. She normally liked to stop, pull one out, and look at it, just to see the sort of things lonths could do that were amazing and fantastic. Things she could never do. Today she didn’t as she saw someone, hovering over where she’d been working. They were vaguely familiar to her. A lonth, blonde, tall, leaning over her work and making notes in a journal he held.

A part of her wanted to go over there and demand what he was doing. Another part told her to hang back and watch. She nearly did charge over there and demand answers. Instead she stayed where she was. He was only there a few seconds more before walking away like he’d been doing nothing unusual.

Once he was gone Mali went back to the desk. She inspected the area with magic even as she sat down. Nothing had been touched or tainted. Nothing had so much as been disturbed. She flipped through her notes, nothing had been altered. It took every ounce of will she had to not look in the direction that lonth had gone. If he was spying on her studying than he was also probably watching her.

She tried to put it out of her mind and went back to work. When Tassa came she protested about leaving for lunch but Tassa pulled her away. She ate and went right back to work. Tassa stayed with her till dinner and they both went back to DiSol’s apartments. He wasn’t there and didn’t return by the time Mali went to sleep.

This carried on for weeks as it had been for weeks. Tassa would drop her off at the library in the morning and she’d basically stay there all day. She began to see the blonde lonth more. Only when she was looking for him. He seemed harmless enough. There was nothing interesting or important in her notes and onimori studying so whoever had sent him to spy on her was learning nothing other than that she was learning onimori.

Despite Tassa’s best efforts Mali continued to lose weight. The rot on her belsong still had not moved and she continued to only exhibit a cough, a runny nose. She knew it was coming though. Once she’d lost enough weight her body’s immune system would start to deteriorate. She tried to eat but she was often unhungry or would get full quickly.

They saw little of DiSol. He’d leave before they woke up and only sometimes came back before they went to sleep. When he did he’d lock himself in his room, only venturing out for dinner.

Mali worried after DiSol the same way Tassa worried over her. DiSol had lost weight as well. At least he appeared to. Or he’d turned what little fat there was on his body into solid muscle. He became gaunt in the face, his high cheeks becoming hollow, his ruddy skin becoming ashen and dry. He came and went like a wraith.

One night Mali was alone in the common room. She was having dinner. Tassa was out who the hell knew where. DiSol came in early. His Shroud covered his entire body, showing only his eyes. It reminded her of the first time she’d met him and he’d come in through Relora’s kitchen window. She saw the look in his eyes. He had murder on his mind.

“DiSol,” she said and he paused, standing on the other side of the table. “Haven’t seen you so much.”

His eyes softened somewhat, at least so she didn’t feel in danger of whatever was coiled inside him making him so furious. “I have been… very busy,” he said.

“You should have dinner with me,” she said.

He looked a second away from refusing. She knew he wanted to just go into his room and not come out and do whatever it is he did in there. Sulk, brood, plot, who knew. “Very well,” and seemingly with great effort he unbound his Shroud from his body and it receded off his face and hands, climbing to his elbows and neck. He sat opposite her. “Where is Tassa?”

“Off banging some lonth probably. Who knows,” Mali shrugged. It wasn’t important.

“She’s caused me quite a bit of trouble for me,” he said as he helped himself to his dinner. “Nearly every single Underlord has come to me complaining about how she seduced this son or that daughter and fucked them, and then left them completely useless for at least a day since they were so enamored with her.” Mali couldn’t help but laugh. “It isn’t funny, Mali,” he scolded her.

“Yes it is,” Mali said, still smiling. “Sounds like she’s sleeping with them to get them to have loose tongues after sex.”

“I still don’t believe that’s actually a thing that happens,” DiSol scoffed.

“You’d be surprised,” Mali said.

“You’d know?”

“I was not above sleeping with teacher aides for better grades, or answers on an exam. Men will agree to some silly things for even slight attention from a woman.” Some color returned to DiSol’s face and it took her a moment to realize he was blushing. Oh how cute. “And that one time I slept with this _idiot_ of a spark for some dirt on this other guy who was trying to get me expelled.”

“You? But you’re such a nice girl, Mali,” DiSol said.

“When I want to be,” she said with a smug little grin. “I got into all sorts of trouble while at Mur. Its basically run by students, even the teachers are young.”

“Yes,” DiSol nodded gravely. Mur had erroneously sided with the wrong Asuras two Conflicts ago. The winner had come through and butchered the entire staff of elder wizards and mages, installing their friends as teachers and faculty. Most of them were just now retiring or dying and fresh blood was being brought in. Young twenty and thirty somethings, some with more power than sense, and a fierce desire to learn and master their arts. “I still can’t imagine a studious girl like you getting into trouble.”

“You don’t know everything about me,” she reminded him. “I might be studious but boys love me.” Yes, for a while at least. Then they always ended up boring her. A great dick could only get a guy so far before Mali just got bored of them and their personality and their stupidity. The healers her age found her wonderful because she was so skilled and she entertained them for a while. They were still healers, and thoroughly boring and born from healer parents who’d been trained by healers and were all stuffy and by the book. Mali followed the rules when it suited her and got her things but unlike a lot of healers who came from houses and long families of healers Mali was a ‘commoner’. She had no familial healing blood in her.

Her father was a trader, a very respectable one actually who ran convoys all up and down the Meltong from Dodorum all the way down to Surassa. He was rich as any lord but didn’t bother with the titles or seeking to get his name as a lower lord in the Book of Bloods. Instead he just liked being rich and had paid for Mali’s tuition to Mur outright which was something usually only nobles did. Her mother didn’t live with them and only saw Mali sometimes. She was a card shark in Smoker’s Den and very good at it. She only saw Mali when she wanted to give Mali presents or scold her for not living up to ‘her name’ and looking more like her father who was heavy like Mali was with dark hair and boring features.

Because she wasn’t from a line of healers Mali wasn’t stuffy. Spayar wouldn’t have tolerated a stuffy friend. He didn’t have time for that. Even though Vondugard had made Spayar be her friend at first she knew Spayar well enough now. Not even fake friendships lasted unless he actually liked you a little. That was the only reason she wished she _was_ more by the book because that meant Spayar and Von would have never wanted anything to do with her. And because she wasn’t stuffy she was ‘rebel’ amid healers. Which she thought was stupid. Mali just knew how to enjoy herself and liked boys _a lot_. Not as much as Tassa but Tassa was excessive in liking boys, and most girls too.

“I see,” DiSol said slowly. “And you? Do you like them as well?”

“The ones who aren’t boring, yes,” Mali said as she ate. Nibbled was probably a better way to say it. She picked and poked at her dinner, not feeling very hungry. “Boys are usually pretty boring.”

“So you are the opposite of Tassa then? High standards, instead of no standards?”

Mali stared at him. Then she laughed. DiSol smiled. “You joke. I didn’t know you could joke,” she said. He shrugged with a helpless little grin. “I’m keeping that one. Use it on Tassa later,” she giggled.

“By all means,” he said. “Maybe from you it will make her stop sleeping with everyone. I swear she has a rotation because I get complaints from my Underlords consistently about her.”

“It won’t, but its a good thought,” Mali said.

“By all means,” he said. “Maybe from you it will make her stop sleeping with everyone. I swear she has a rotation because I get complaints from my Underlords consistently about her.”

“It won’t, but its a good thought,” Mali said. “How is your father?”

“I have been closely monitoring his food and medications as you said I should,” DiSol said. “Unfortunately I cannot dismiss JaGul though.”

“Why not?”

“My brother put him there and CoLan is the heir, I am not, and he has more authority than me.”

“Why don't you go become heir then?”

“I would need to hunt a kill a polar bear,” he said.

“Oh,” she frowned a bit. “How long does that take?”

“This deep in winter? It could take a long time or I could get lucky and only a few days, and that is only once I get to the southern Kas’sca,” he said.

“How do you normally hunt polar bears? How did your brother do it?”

“My brother went out in the beginning of winter years ago and was gone all year. When he returned he returned with the skulls of each animal.”

“And you the entire bodies?”

“I thought it was a waste to leave them out there to rot or get scavenged. That and I was able to kill my tiger without destroying the hide.”

“You wanted a trophy.”

“I wanted a fancy blanket,” he smirked. “It's very warm since its pack tiger winter pelt.”

“And very soft I presume?”

“Not originally. The tanners treated it so its soft now. It used to be fairly coarse. I've also worn it soft. Though I mainly use it outside.”

“A fancy blanket for the outside?”

He nodded, “For when I must be outside for extended periods for whatever reason. Hunting or being out because spring is coming and I am tired of being locked in DisAdo all winter.”

“I see. Could I see it?” she asked shyly.

“Yes, of course,” he said and got up. His plate was empty but Mali had only succeeded in moving her food around her plate while eating very little of it. 

Mali was not expecting the size of it when DiSol brought it out of his room. It was like a rug with a quilted side and a white patterned side. She got up and met him half way because she was drawn to it so strongly.

“This is from one pack tiger?” she asked, reaching out to touch it.

“Mhm. The one I hunted. I stalked it for three days and laid a careful trap for it so I could kill it without damaging the hide so much.”

“Its beautiful,” she said at a near whisper, running her fingers through the thick fur that was a white tinged with yellow undertones and shimmering silver-blue overtones that made it glossy. Thin dark grey stripes covered the entire thing looking like a thousand drops of rain or very carefully drawn and washed out ink. This piece of skin had once covered the largest predator in all of Priman’osta. Pack tigers were as big as horses and hunted everything and anything in their home ranges of the Kas’sca and the lower Spine with even some specimens being found in the Ember Forest south of the Break. They were omnivorous only sometimes, preferring meat but could eat berries and other vegetation during lean months like bears but their main diet was polar bears, seals, and anything they could get their huge jaws around.She’d never seen one up close or even the skin of one. All she’d ever seen were drawings. 

Seeing the skin made quilt up close really gave her perspective. Being told a pack tiger was as large as a horse was one thing. Seeing its stretched out size in person was quite another thing. And DiSol had killed this thing. DiSol had tracked and hidden from a monster like a pack tiger. She looked from the pelt to him in wonder.

“How did you kill it?” she asked him.

“I bashed it’s head between two rocks. Killing it was easy, it was getting it still and in a place of weakness that was difficult. They’re smart you know. Very smart, and totally fearless. They know they are the top predators. Only the Embirrir have any chance totake them on and live to tell about it. But they don’t fear someone like me. It was a-

“Wait wait, what did you just say?” she interrupted him.

“They don’t fear me?”

“Before that,” she dug her fingers into the pelt.

“They’re smart and-

“No _between_ that. About the Embirrir,” she was starting to lose her patience. What was that about boys being boring and dumb!?

“The Embirrir hunt pack tigers during the deep winter,” he said. “They eat them, and anything else out on the Kas’sca. Tigers are the native apex predators but the Embirrir are their direct competition and usually win in a fight.”

“Do Embirrir eat polar bears?” she asked.

“Yes,” he nodded.

She was potentially about to say and do something very reckless. “Do you ever see the Embirrir? Like actually see them and not just rumor?”

“Sometimes? During the summer they come north to our most southern cities and trade pelt and mithril knives for wood, glass jars, and salt. I’ve never seen one myself but the mithril knives make it up to DisAdo regardless.”

“So the Embirrir and the Shade are on good terms then?”

“We aren’t on bad terms. We prefer to not deal with them. Way I hear it traders leave goods out at the end of a road that goes nowhere and the next morning there are bushels of pelt or knives for the goods in equal trade. They want nothing to do with us but what they can’t not get themselves and we want their knives and pelt. Not like they need it.”

“I thought you said you’ve never seen one.”

DiSol rolled his eyes a little. “ _Stories_ Mali. They’re our southern cousins. I’ve never seen one but I’ve heard the stories of those who have. I think I saw them afar once, while I was hunting my tiger and maybe while I hunted my seal too. But from a great distance. They’re supposed to be beast men covered in fur, constantly in a half shifted state.”

“That’s impossible,” Mali said.

“Yes, I know. Those are the stories though,” he said. “Why? What were you thinking?”

“You don’t have time to hunt and catch a polar bear,” Mali said and her heart started to beat faster. “But your brother was given his title as heir by just bringing back the skull of his kills. The Embirrir eat polar bears. Who’s to say they don’t have some polar bear skulls just lying around?”

DiSol understood her immediately. “No. That is dishonorable-

“To hell with honor,” Mali said. “Honor is going to kill your father and you won’t even _try_.”

“Then they will suspect-

“They will follow you out in the middle of winter into that god forsaken wasteland to make sure you _actually_ killed a polar bear?” she gave him a look.

“Well… no,” he admitted.

“Then go. Try. Your father will most definitely die if you don’t.”

“I don’t even know how to find the Embirrir. They’re barely more than a myth.”

“Figure it out.”

“How do you propose I do that? Ask the local wildlife? Which aren’t around because they all went north for the winter or are hibernating.”

“You’re a mage aren’t you? A wizard even? Don’t act like its impossible. Its magic, stop being so stupid.”

That didn’t sit well with him and his Shroud worked itself up his neck a bit. Her heart was still beating hard, maybe even harder than it had been before. Mali realized she’d made him upset and she knew he was a dangerous man. DiSol could kill her in an instant if he wanted and the danger kick started her adrenaline. “We both know magic doesn’t work like that.”

“Magic works however you tell it to work. Its magic,” she said like she was talking to a small child. “Or did you forget that?”

“You cannot make something from nothing. A belsong does not just do. It must be taught.”

“For some yes,” she said, “but not everyone.”

“Like _who_? Who can just do anything like it is nothing? Name someone,” he dared.

Mali’s mind raced. She couldn’t. She was a healer and while she could do some things not connected to her element it was limited. Then the most obvious answer came to her and she hated that that was the answer. “Tassa,” she said. “Tassa is a mage, a witch, and a weaver. She can do anything like it is nothing.” Her heart was still pounding and she felt her head pounding too.

“And she is a useless whore-

“She is not,” Mali said, unable to believe she was actually defending Tassa’s promiscuity.

“She’s busy having sex with all of my lonths-

“So what?” she got right in his face with only the pack tiger blanket between them. “Its winter. You have nothing to do but train, and fuck and pray your house doesn’t fall apart around your ears. Your father is dying to someone _inside_ your house, the healer who is supposed to save him is sick, and my witch is keeping her ear open for extra upset rumblings from your Underlords by banging their kids. I am doing what I can to find who is killing your father and what do you do?” she challenged him. Her heart felt like it was about to beat right out of her chest. “You sulk in your room like a small child instead of doing something that could help your father.

“You are reactive at best and negligent at worst. I have grown up around nobles and royals, DiSol. They do not get anything done by being reactive. Spayar does not get anything done by being reactive and sure as shit I don’t either.

“Do you want to save your father?” she demanded.

DiSol was half covered in his Shroud now. Hostile but also wary. It took her a few seconds to realize he was scared. Scared of her. He’d never been spoken to like that, let alone by some short little norther healer who was dying. “Of course I do,” he said.

“Then go get a polar bear skull,” she said from between clenched teeth. She tugged on the blanket a bit to make her point as she said, “Be proactive like you were when you hunted this thing.”

“One doesn’t just find the Embirrir,” he said.

“Don’t care. Figure it out. I’m running half blind here and I’m still doing something about it.” Fire licked at her gut and she felt her blood rushing and her magic along every inch of her body. Emotion enflamed a mage and made power come easy and sometimes just activated their magic if their emotion was strong enough.

DiSol took a deep breath and his Shroud leeched away from his face so he was without once more. “Then what do I do?”

“Polar bear skull,” she said, frustrated with him.

“How do you propose I find the Embirrir hmm? I’m not… the greatest tracker,” he admitted. “I’m more a killer.”

She turned away from him, wanting to scream. What _useless_ man! She did intend to walk out of DiSol’s apartments but on her way to the door her blood pressure took an abrupt dip and before she knew it she was on the floor. Well rather, she crashed into it and her head spun. DiSol was by her side in seconds. “Are you okay?” he asked, dark eyes wide in worry. He’d been so angry at her for making him less than a man literally a moment ago. Now that didn’t matter.

Mali felt her blood pressure crashing. Not in a ‘I’m going to die’ sort of manner but more in a ‘I need to lay down for a while’ sort of manner. “Yes,” she said thickly.

“No you aren’t,” he said.

“I am well enough,” she snapped.

“Let me get one of our healers-

“DiSol!” she yelled and punched his shoulder. “ _Your_ healers are murdering the Shadow Lord! They are _not_ touching me.”

He deflated some. “Very well,” he said. Then without her consent he picked her up. Well this was both novel and everything she imagined it would be. As in she absolutely hated it. She wasn’t being used to being picked up. She didn’t like it either and nearly beat him off with her limp hands but DiSol didn’t even notice her and took her right into her bedroom and sat her on the bed. Her head was spinning as her heart tried to equalize the pressure in her body’s veins and arteries as well as keep her brain full of blood.

“Don’t do that,” she told him sternly.

“I did not see an alternative. Now what happened?”

“Blood pressure is low,” she said and put her fingers on the underside of her wrist, checking her pulse. Her heard was beating hard and only a little faster than usual. “Crashed. Your father experience anything like this?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“Hmmm. Well, I won’t be walking anywhere now. Go find Tassa.”

“Tassa?”

“Yes, Tassa,” she said.

“What good will she be?”

“She is very useful actually. Now do as I say.”

She honestly did expect him to deny her, to fight back. Instead he said, “Do you know where she is?”

“Off causing trouble with an Underlord,” she said. DiSol groaned and rubbed his face. “Now go find her. Pry her off whatever lonth she’s attached herself to tonight.”

“You are serious,” he said dryly.

“I would do it but I don’t want to fall again, and neither do you,” she said.

“You actually want me to go… interrupt her?” he looked sort of queasy at the thought.

“Yes. Its just sex, who cares. Tell her I need her, it’ll make her come alone.”

“No it won’t,” he huffed.

“Just go do it,” she pushed at him a little. He made a noise of protest but left. Mali sat there a bit while he went out and was about to get more comfortable when he came back in with his tiger pelt quilt. He didn’t say anything, or look at her, he just left it on the foot of her bed before leaving again.

Mali cocked her head at his direction though he was already gone. Then she looked at the tiger pelt quilt. She reached out and ran her fingers through the thick fur. It was so soft and very warm. She picked up the heavy quilt, kicked off her boots, and laid down, pulling the quilt over her. It smelled like DiSol’s room and she smiled to herself as she pulled it up to her chin. It was very warm and she was happy for it. Her blankets never seemed to keep her warm enough but a pack tiger pelt quilt? Kept her plenty warm.

She didn’t doze and instead just looked up at the ceiling, thinking so hard it gave her a headache. This could work. This could actually work and it’d be easy. DiSol could become heir and could really take control of his house. He just had to find the Embirrir and have them give him a polar bear skull.

They had to give him a polar bear skull. Her skin crawled a little. She was sending DiSol out to find the Embirrir. Monsters. She had no idea what one looked like. Reports over the centuries ranged from feyrie-like, graceful and perfect with power like a fire storm to monstrous cat-creatures. Some said they had been Sinou’s summons and his magic had been so strong that even two thousand years after his death they could still exist on Gala somehow. Other stories said they were feral humans who dressed in furs and ate the flesh of those who got lost in the Kas’sca. Some second hand accounts even said that they were land living merfolk who were from the western ocean out beyond the Mos in a part of the world that only existed on a map to Mali. There were countless other tales of just what the Embirrir were. There were two things known for sure. One was that the few times the Le’Acard had called them to fight in their wars death, destruction, and complete annihilation of the enemy had followed. The other was that they were the only non mettallurgists in the known world who could work mithril. Embirrir mithril work was also considered cursed so people didn’t always want it but the knives and short swords were always perfect regardless of how you felt about them.

Mali really hoped most of the stories about the Embirrir was just that; stories. She hoped she wasn’t sending DiSol, or Tassa for that matter, to their doom.

Not even a bell had passed before DiSol returned, opening the door. Tassa looked more smug than she’d ever seen her. She sat up when they entered. “Apparently you summoned me?” Tassa asked and went over to Mali’s bed and lounged on it like it was hers.

“What are you so happy about?” Mali asked her. Tassa’s eyes flicked over to DiSol and she giggled a little. “Uhg, Tassa,” Mali sighed. She could guess. DiSol had literally caught Tassa in the act and dragged her out. No wonder she was so smug. DiSol got awkward and uncomfortable the times Tassa sometimes slept in and came out in her night gown for breakfast she could imagine how that had made him feel. Tassa loved making powerful men feel uncomfortable when confronted with someone like her. It reduced them to little boys. “ _Anyway_ , the reason I had DiSol go get you was because I need you to do something.”

“Mhm, what’s that now then?” Tassa asked, her foot jiggling a bit.

“I still protest,” DiSol said.

“Ignored,” Mali said, still looking at Tassa. “The Shade are going to fall apart. Who knows when CoLan will return and you know the Underlords are spoiling to revolt.”

“Only some of them,” Tassa said neatly.

“They are?” DiSol asked.

“Oh yes,” Tassa said nicely. “Some of them still like you but many of them are not happy with your family. They think you are weak.”

“How would you know that?” DiSol asked. “You aren’t even upper Shade.”

“I’ve fucked all them,” Tassa said like it was obvious. “Or their kids at least and lemmie tell you, those lonths? No good at keeping secrets. They all spill the milk when prodded. Especially the boys. They act like they’ve never gotten head in their life and are ready to tell me their life story afterwards,” she snorted. “Your Underlords are intimidated by your displays of power but you are one man and the governing family is small this generation. They aren’t _afraid_ of you and since your father got ill and your brother abandoned them for the Boggarts they don’t respect you. You even less because you’re not an heir.” DiSol’s Shroud prickled.

“Which is what we need to fix,” Mali said. “DiSol needs to become an heir so they will respect him _and_ so he can kick all of his father’s healers out of his room so LouSai has even a chance of recovering.”

“Then just have LouSai proclaim him heir. What’s the problem here?” Tassa asked and DiSol scoffed.

“You have to earn the position,” Mali said. “Like the Le’Acard do.”

“Don’t tell me he has to kill CoLan,” Tassa said, wide eyed. “Cause I like you DiSol, but your brother will destroy you and I don’t want you to die.”

“No, nothing like that,” Mali said. “He’s got to kill a polar bear, a leopard seal, and a pack tiger, that proves himself an heir to the Shade.”

“Oh, _that’s_ it?” Tassa asked sarcastically like those three things were particularly easy. “Just go out and kill three apex predators and you get to be a Shade heir.”

“He’s already killed two,” Mali said and flipped part of the quilt up so Tassa could see the pelt lined underside. Tassa’s eyes got huge when she saw it. “And the leopard seal,” she added.

“So then, a polar bear?” Tassa tore her eyes from the pack tiger pelt quilt and looked at DiSol with a new respect.

“Which could take _weeks_ ,” DiSol said, “and its the middle of Lun, so probably even longer now with the snow.”

“Or?” Tassa looked at Mali expectantly. She knew Mali had a plan.

“The Embirrir hunt and eat polar bears. It isn’t out of the question they’d have a skull lying around. CoLan only had the skulls of his trial and was allowed to become heir. All DiSol needs is a skull.”

“Wait wait, go back to your _stupid_ idea of getting the _Embirrir_ to give us a fucking polar bear skull.”

“Why wouldn’t they? Trade them for it,” Mali said. “They trade with the Shade all the time.”

“You want DiSol to go out into the Kas’sca, find the Embirrir, and trade them a polar bear skull?” Tassa clarified.

“No,” Mali said. “I want the _both_ of you to find the Embirrir and DiSol will trade them for a polar bear skull.”

“How did I get roped into this?” Tassa yelled.

“Because I need _you_ to find the Embirrir,” Mali said, doing her best to not match Tassa’s volume.

“How do you think I’ll do that.”

“You’re a witch Tassa. The best and cleverest and most skilled witch I know. If anyone can use magic to find the Embirrir, its you.”

Tassa stared at Mali. “You feeling alright?” she asked. “Because that is an insane plan.”

“My body might be on the decline but my mind is still fine,” Mali said. “It could work.”

“It could also get me and DiSol killed,” Tassa said.

“Or it could keep the Underlords at bay long enough for LouSai to recover,” Mali said.

Tassa groaned. “How about instead we just get the skull and kill him? Because that sounds about as logical. Just make DiSol Shadow Lord instead of beating around the bush with this. They’d really be pushed back if he did something crazy like that. Very Le’Acard.”

“I would never,” DiSol said.

“She was being sarcastic,” Mali rubbed her eyes.

“Well its about as good an idea as getting a _polar bear skull from the Embirrir_!” Tassa cried.

“Your plan needs the skull too,” Mali said.

“That’s not the point!”

“Look,” Mali put her hands together.

“You aren’t going to say anything that is going to convince me,” Tassa said.

“How about if you don’t we’re all probably going to die?” Mali asked her.

“Come again?”

“Me too?” DiSol asked.

“ _All_ of us,” Mali motioned to the three of them. “Someone has been snooping around me in the library, reading my notes. I don’t know who he is, he’s a lonth, blonde, tall, doesn’t look like he’s a native of LoHanJo’in.”

“Kascarian,” DiSol said. “We only have one family of them in DisAdo; the Harts. They’re very large and loyal to their Underlord to a bitter fault.”

“And they don’t back you at all,” Tassa said with a bit of a roll of her eyes.

“If he’s snooping he wants to know what I know. Once he knows what I know who knows what he’ll do. If the Harts are the enemy then if they know things it could be bad. Or worse if we get to close to the truth of what’s happening to LouSai. The lonth who’s looking is bold. I know he’s seen me see him a few times and he doesn’t care if I do. If he’s that bold then he’s not scared of the consequences of me telling DiSol someone is stalking me. He’s bold enough to do more and his family is brave enough to move if we do things wrong.

“And,” Mali put her hand on her chest and like he was pulling on something pulled a globe of light away from it. She winced as she did so. The globe of light was pale and solid looking on the bottom like it was made of crystal. “This is the state of my belsong right now,” she said. It was a common diagnosis for mages on other wizards to check on their belsong health. “The crystal growth is a representation of the magical illness that is eating at my health, which I can’t fix. I haven’t looked at LouSai’s but I imagine his is even more crystalline.”

“Oh Mali-

“It gets worse,” Mali said. She touched them both in the chest and pulled the belsong globe out of them. Tassa’s belsong state was vibrant and cheerful in Mali’s hand throwing off a cold light like a winter day. DiSol’s was strong but dim without form. Except for a little chip in DiSol’s belsong that looked like black obsidian. Tassa’s representation had a chip of ice on hers as well. “Whoever is killing the Shadow Lord, and trying to kill me, knows we know. They also know I’m working on uncovering them. They know Tassa is milking information from lonths close to the Underlords, and they know DiSol is in their way of their final goal. You’re both going to get sick soon, and then you’ll be like me.

“We’re all going to _die_ unless we do something. Something drastic that the Underlords will not expect. CoLan is gone. Who knows when he will be back. The Shadow Lord is dying and the Underlords are basically in open revolt. There is no power in the Shade and they are killing you,” she told DiSol. “You need power and authority, because they don’t respect you at all, you need to be an heir to the Seat of Shadows. You need to _want_ that polar bear skull or you’re dead. We’re all dead.”

DiSol’s ruddy face was practically ashen and maybe even a bit green. Tassa was just staring at the illusionary representation of her belsong in open disbelief. “I see,” DiSol said after a silence.

“This is a good plan. Risky as hell, but good,” Mali said. “If you leave DisAdo the wizard doing this to you won’t be able to maintain the illness. You’ll be too far away and it won’t grow.”

“Will it shrink?”

“No. The only way to destroy the taint is to kill the magi connected to the weave. Even then it won’t be quick. Recovery will come but it won’t be instant. And this is just one thing killing us. If the Underlords get bold they could just come and kill us outright.”

“Which they might do if I am gone.”

“But none of them really _want_ to kill LouSai,” Tassa said. “They want him to die but all of the Underlords respect him too much to just outright murder him. They have no problem with killing you though. You’re young, untested, not an heir, and aren’t even married. You are a loose end for them.”

DiSol folded his arms. “But if I am my father’s heir I am not a loose end. I’m a threat.”

“And you have more authority. I’ve read up on it,” Tassa said. “Killing the child of a lonth is not a big deal because you’re weird but if you kill an heir its treason. Same for killing a governor.”

“Treason is a Sin,” Mali said.

DiSol sighed and rubbed his face. “Fine. Fine. I see now that we must do this. I loathe to leave DisAdo unprotected and without a Shade to keep things running but I have no choice.”

“They’ll be too surprised you just left to make a move,” Mali said.

“Do I have to go? Really?” Tassa complained.

“Yes,” Mali told her. “Get out of DisAdo, let your belsong attempt to heal some. And DiSol needs you.”

“Oh does he?”

“He needs you to find the Embirrir,” Mali said. “You’re a stronger magic user than him. That or he’s incompetent-

“I’m right here,” DiSol growled.

“I know,” Mali said, brushing him off. “The Embirrir are secret and guarded and you’ll need to use magic to find them to not wander the Kas’sca for weeks looking for them.” Tassa laid down on the bed looking an inch from throwing a hissy fit about the entire thing. Mali let her have her internal temper tantrum for a few minutes and turned back to DiSol. “I know Tassa will get you to the Embirrir, but you’ll have to get them to give you a skull.”

“If they have one-

“They’re the Embirrir, do you really think they don’t just have a polar bear skull lying around?” Mali challenged.

DiSol frowned, “No,” he agreed. “I will need to trade them for it. They won’t just give it to me.”

“What do you normally trade to the Embirrir again?”

“Things that burn well, or glass objects. Those are too heavy to carry on foot. They have no use for most other things,” DiSol frowned. “I don’t know what I could offer them that they’d think is equal value to what the skull is for me.”

“And they’d know you value the skull a lot if you came seeking it in the middle of Lun,” Mali frowned. DiSol nodded. “What do we have that they don’t and is easy to carry around?”

“Fine, I’ll go,” Tassa said but wasn’t happy about it one bit. “I do so under protest. What were you talking about?” Mali told her. “Do the Embirrir read?” she asked.

“I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t,” DiSol said, confused.

“Well why don’t we bring them some books? They’re isolated from the world. Can’t imagine they visit many libraries.”

“That’s if they even can read feylian.”

“Why wouldn’t they? They’re part of our country and speak our language,” Tassa said.

“As far as we know,” DiSol folded his arms.

“You got any better ideas?” Tassa challenged.

DiSol made a face. “No,” he admitted.

“What else could you bring? In case books don’t work?” Mali asked but was already thinking of the ones they could use. 

“How about a fire stone?” Tassa suggested. “If they’re burning wood to keep warm why not just cut to the chase and give them a fire stone. They’re hard enough to make that they might not have any since you need a large enough gem to make it work right.”

“Hmm, that could work,” DiSol said. “Warmth would be valuable to them if nothing else.”

“Any other ideas?” Mali prodded.

“None I can think of right now,” Tassa said. “And time is critical here. We don’t have time to dawdle around thinking of more things.”

“I’ll arrange for a fresh fire stone to be made,” DiSol said. “Think of what books the Embirrir might value,” Mali nodded. “Tassa and I cannot be seen leaving together. An heir’s trial is to be done alone.”

“I’ll say I’m going to ‘Akiro,” Tassa said. “Tired of this damn place.”

“Hmmm, very well. I will prepare equipment and clothing for you. I don’t know if we can take a sleigh.”

“The snow’s too deep to walk,” Tassa protested.

DiSol frowned, “Yes,” he agreed.

“You’re an ice mage,” Mali said, “just clear the way.”

“Ah yes, and you just grow another bone out of your forehead. You’re a bone mage so it should be easy right?” Tassa scowled at her. “The amount of force to move _that_ much snow would drain my belsong. If I didn’t get horribly light sick I’d just kill myself from draining my life force.”

Mali winced, “Noted,” she said.

“I will think of something,” DiSol said. “We should not procrastinate this and leave within the next day or so. You need to leave before me.”

“Great,” Tassa grumbled.

“Think of it as time to build a weave to find the Embirrir,” Mali said helpfully.

“ _Great_ ,” Tassa was extra sarcastic on that one. “We done now? I want to enjoy the last few nights I’m going to sleep in a warm bed in who knows how long.”

“I think so,” DiSol said. “I need to go speak with one of my men to see about the crafting of a fire stone.”

“I’ll think of what the Embirrir might want for books,” Mali added.

“Great. I’m leaving now,” Tassa announced and then got up and left with the dignity of an upset child. Mali rolled her eyes after Tassa. She could be such a drama queen.

Once the door was closed DiSol asked, “You’re sure this is a good plan?”

“Its the only one we got,” Mali said.

“You will be alone in DisAdo,” he said. “Spayar was very clear to not let anything happen to you.”

“I will be fine,” she said. Emotion moved across DiSol’s eyes but Mali wasn’t good at reading lonth expressions, which were more subtle than those she’d grown up with. “I’m not defenseless.”

“You’re in a house of murderers, Mali,” DiSol reminded her.

“I grew up with crown prince Vondugard and his _d'aelar_ as some of my closest friends,” she said, “I am not a stranger to being around murderers. And I’ve served my time.”

“As a healer,” he protested.

“I will be _fine_ ,” she insisted and a bit insulted he thought so little of her. To think she could not fight, that she had not fought, that she had not been there on the front amid the blood and death healing the injured and causing a bit of chaos herself. “I’m a big girl, DiSol.”

His mouth twitched in a frown. “Very well,” he relented. “Get some rest, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Make sure you rest too,” she told him sternly.

“Of course,” he bowed his head a bit but she wasn’t sure if he’d actually do it.

She got out the bed and dragged the tiger pelt quilt with her. “You can have this back,” she said. She hadn’t thought she would get to keep it the night and she was just going to dress down, think of books for the Embirrir, and go to sleep anyway.

DiSol’s eyes widened a fraction. “No, you can keep it,” he said, pushing it back into her hands. “I have no use for it and it will keep you warm.”

“I am warm enough.”

DiSol deliberated before saying, “Tassa tells me you complain of waking up cold sometimes. Please, just keep it. I’m useless to helping you or my father recover but at least I can ensure you are comfortable.”

Mali softened a bit. “Alright,” she put the quilt back on the bed.

“Goodnight, Mali,” he bowed a little, awkward all the sudden and if she didn’t know any better she swore he just ran away. Boys were so stupid. 

She took off her day clothes and climbed into bed to think of the books she’d take from the library that the Embirrir would be interested in. It kept her up rather late before sleep finally drew her in deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading I'd really like to know. K thks


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